


Buying Rebel

by Violetlyvanilla



Series: Roman AU [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Complete, Duplicity, Enermies To Friends To Lovers, Feasts, M/M, Mutual Pining, Political Intrigue, Rebel Celtic Warrior Dean, Roman AU, Roman Senator Garrison Leader Cas, Roman baths, Royalty, Sub Dean, Wildly inaccurate historical references, dom Cas, hurt comfort, master and servant, romance tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2019-11-21 12:05:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 52,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18141953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetlyvanilla/pseuds/Violetlyvanilla
Summary: Roman Senator and former garrison leader Castiel was looking for a companion for his adopted son Jack, when he finds Dean enslaved and destined for the brothels. Castiel could not stand to see the fierce and bright soul sent to the pits of hell. On an impulse, Castiel brings Dean and his brother Sam home. His own brother Gabriel was going to say he was buying trouble. If only that was all, in truth Castiel was quickly falling for a rebel Celt.





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel hated the market place. He had the quaint belief that the purchase of labour ought to happen on equal bargaining grounds. A man chained against his will was in no position to freely offer his services, however much the merchants tried to convince the buyer otherwise. This was the third place he had visited that morning, the more places he saw, the more Castiel's stomach turned at the sight of the poor humans treated like chattel. Abbadon was the first so called merchant, she tried to offer Castiel a trainee gladiator, completely unsuited to Castiel's needs. Asmodeus was the second and the offers he made were salacious and deviant. Metatron was a smaller dealer, he kept the strange captives, the ones not obviously suited to any particular type of duty but somehow he found them interesting. Metatron considered himself a collector. 

"I am looking for a carer, for my ward. She would need to be a decent cook and preferably able to read." 

The second requirement was for Castiel's own benefit. His household already had efficient caretakers and he did as much around the property himself as he was able to find free time away from his duties in the Senate and his writing. Jack's carer would be spending more time in the villa with the family. If she was able to read and write, Castiel could seek her assistance with organising his work, and the conversations would be more interesting. 

Metatron scratched his head, the bald patch gleaming with sweat. His beady eyes looked Castiel up and down, his fingers twitching as he performed the mental calculations. No doubt trying to work out who would interest Castiel and how much he might extort out of one of the wealthiest men in Rome. 

"Ruby is a beautiful young lady, don't you think?" Metatron clapped his hand and in came a young woman with tribal tattoos and fire in her dark brown eyes. "A Brigand princess, educated and graceful." 

She looked at Castiel with her chin up in the air and a faint smirk on her face. 

"Perhaps, do you have anyone older? My ward is a young man who never knew his mother. He might prefer a more motherly companion?" Castiel said, nodding politely to acknowledge Ruby's presence. She walked out the door again, bowing shallow and grinning whimsically. 

"I have just the woman, nay, lady you require," Metatron clapped again and a middle aged woman with porcelain skin, autumnal hair and glittering eyes entered. She was beautifully dressed in a magenta gown and more fair of face than any courtesan appearing at Asmodeus' fragrant boutique. 

"Rowena is a pagan queen, a northern witch, her magic is her musical talents, her sharp tongue and her ceaseless appetite for hedonism. True to her Gaul heritage, she would make a fearsome and seductive companion for a gentleman. Your ward would like her too." 

Castiel blushed as Rowena assessed him with sweeping glances and a coy smile as if it was him that was being put on display. He cleared his throat and muttered. "I might need to sleep on it." 

"Don't sleep too long, handsome Roman," Rowena said in a lilting accent, her words melodic and fluent. "There are many who would like to acquire my services, but I do sense that you would treat me like the Queen I am." 

"Uh..." Castiel was a well known orator in the Senate but even he was lost for words as Rowena bowed and winked at the same time. 

She turned to leave the room but there was some disturbance in the hallways. Gadreel, Metatron's bodyguard, came running in on the heels of a man clutching a dagger. All Castiel could see of the intruder was wild long hair and a dirt covered face. He was filthy compared to the lavish sitting room, his clothes tattered hessian in contrast with the silk and scarlet robes worn by Metatron's retinue. He was cursing in Celtic which Castiel had a working command of. 

"Where is my brother?" The man pointed his dagger at Metatron, speech transitioning into fluent Latin. "Did you sell him into the gladiator ring? You promised he would be kept with me, you promised we would go to the lions together. And on that day, the beasts will know not to mess the Winchesters." 

"Dean, we have a guest," Metatron warned, his fingers flickered in Gadreel's direction and the guard lunged forward, his sword drawn. 

Dean, Castiel supposed that must be his name, sidestepped the first swing, ducked behind Gadreel then punched the sizeable man in the small of his back. The guard, embarrassed and shocked at the challenge, spun and swung his weapon. Dean leapt over the low arc of the sword and flung his fist into Gadreel's throat. The guard staggered and Dean leapt into the air, extending one leg in a powerful kick. However, his footing came loose and he swayed for a fraction of a second, giving Gadreel enough time to recover and catch his leg. Dean was thrown to the ground with a sickening thud. Castiel watched with interest as Dean bounced back onto his feet, only a little unsteady in his left leg. There was something wrong with his knee, Castiel could tell. Dean fought like a tiger, the sort of maneater that awed Castiel when he had travelled east with the legions. He was graceful and fast and if not for his injured leg would have won over Gadreel easily despite the guard's advantage in height and weight. Metatron was a fool not to let Dean's leg heal and train him for the Colosseum. Just watching him fight was an unexpected pleasure, even for a man like Castiel, who had traded war for peace. 

Sensing that he was not going to be able to compel Metatron by fighting his guard, Dean changed tact quickly. In a lightning movement, he dove for Castiel, grappling his wrist and placing him into a chokehold, the dagger poised at his throat. Metatron began shouting and cursing. 

"Will you be quiet?" Castiel asked curtly. 

"Shut up," Dean hissed into Castiel's ear. "Tell him to bring my brother." 

"I was not speaking to you," Castiel said calmly. "Metatron, will you cease that display of hysteria?" 

Metatron silenced himself immediately at the steely look on Castiel's face. Castiel supposed Metatron had heard about his time with the garrison. Funny how rumours spun out of control in the metropolis, only a fraction of the things said about Castiel's military service was true but at least it instilled fear and respect in the gullible. 

"I can see you are passionate," Castiel said to Dean, lowering his shoulder slightly where Dean clutched onto his collar bone. "And I understand your concern for your family. Metatron, why won't you let him see his brother?" 

"He's due to be delivered to the training barracks this afternoon, Abbadon chose him personally," Metatron stuttered. "She didn't want Dean, the fool has a weak knee, injured when he attacked Asmodeus himself when he was trying to procure Dean for his uh house of indiscriminate welcome. Now Dean is too damaged to train as a gladiator. What do you want, you impulsive brute? Do you want me to send Sam to the brothels with you? Be thankful he is going to the stadiums. He'll be showered in glory while you bathe in ..." 

Dean grunted and surged forward to attack Metatron, his eyes full of rage. Castiel turned slightly and moved his hand along Dean's arm, pinching the nerves in his wrist and kicking him in the back of the weak knee in one smooth movement. Instantly, Dean was pinned to the ground, Castiel's hands on his shoulders and his ass on Dean's hard stomach to keep him from breaking free. Dean fought Castiel like a demon, kicking his legs and gnashing his teeth, spitting and biting and making desperate animal noises. Castiel just sat there, waiting for Dean to tire. Up close he could see the vivid green of Dean's eyes, like the emerald isles he came from. They were bright and livid gems in an otherwise indiscernable face covered in beard and hair and muck. 

"Calm down if you want to see your brother!" Castiel called out in his best attempt at Celtic. 

Dean's eyes widened, they were really truly very bright and beautifully ringed with eyelashes. He stilled slowly, tilting his head and making gurgling noises. Castiel eased his forearm on Dean's windpipe. 

"Take a slow deep breath and speak like the civilised man you are," Castiel directed.

"And you would know the difference between a man and a beast?" Dean said hotly but his chest was heaving as he drew deep breaths. He looked at Castiel with wary curiosity. "I have met only beasts since my brother and I were taken captive during battle. This is a land where the humans behave like animals, treating fellows as property." 

"Yes and you are in a strange land with no friends," Castiel answered. "And you have just threatened the life of the man who has you imprisoned. You are too injured to fight your way out. The only option left to you is flight. What are the chances you can find your brother and escape today?"

Dean stilled between Castiel's legs. He looked away, turning his head and closing his eyes in despair. Where the tears ran silently down his face a trail of freckled skin appeared. 

"Go with Gadreel and wait," Castiel slowly drew himself up, releasing Dean. 

Metatron watched their interaction with calculating eyes. Grinning oilily as Dean left with Gadreel. 

"I hope that was not some performance for my benefit, if it was, he is a very fine actor indeed," Castiel said. 

"No, of course not, I can show you the dockets of sale for Dean and Sam Winchester. The younger brother is going to be a gladiator and Dean is bound for the brothels I'm afraid. You could visit him at Asmodeus' establishment anon." 

The look Castiel shot at Metatron would have frightened a seasoned warrior. 

"I know you will extract an exorbitant price and I am not interested in bargaining with you. My brother Gabriel will attend tomorrow and pay you a fair price for your ... treatment ... of Dean and Sam Winchester. I will depart in a few moments with Dean and Sam walking beside me. I am sure the details of the arrangement can be worked out by Gabriel. After all he is the caretaker of Rome." 

Metatron nodded eagerly and rushed away to brief his staff. Castiel sat down and waited patiently. 

It was Gadreel who returned with Dean and a tall clean faced young man who must be the brother. Sam was in much better condition than Dean, neatly dressed and clean shaven, his hair though long was elaborately plaited and kept off his face. Looking at him, Castiel could imagine that Dean must be handsome too underneath all that hair and dirt. 

"The delivery can be made shortly," Gadreel offered. 

"I will walk out with them, please give them their personal effects." 

Dean gave a bitter laugh. "This is it, all we have is each other." 

"That is more than most have," Castiel said and began to head for the door. It was Sam who followed first, Dean hesitated but began moving when Sam tugged on his elbow. 

Castiel had ridden to Metatron's quarters, he had brought a second horse expecting to bring home one person. Now he was in a dilemma, Sam was too heavy to share a ride. So he gave Sam the mare and looked at Dean expectantly. 

"Have you ridden before?"

Dean looked at the glossy black horse and grinned, his teeth white and sharp. 

Castiel was almost certain that the moment Dean was in the saddle he would disappear into the horizon. He left Dean with Impala and walked over to see Sam was properly settled onto the mare. Sam took the reins from his hand with a polite nod. 

“Come on Sammy!” Dean yelled and kicked the stallion into a gallop, the dust blowing up Castiel’s robes. 

“He’s not running away,” Sam said awkwardly as Dean raced into the distance, becoming a mere shadow in the sun. 

Castiel walked alongside the remaining horse. “He won’t get far,” he said confidently. 

The Impala was Castiel’s personal warhorse, she had been with him through battles and marches too numerous to list. She did not tolerate anyone else riding him, he had been surprised when Dean managed to stay on her back, his bowed legs clamped tightly along her sleek flanks. Castiel walked at a sedate pace while Sam rode on the other mare, cantering back and forth between his runaway brother and purported new master, his face indecisive. Castiel almost laughed when he saw the horse pause on the precipice of disappearing out of view. Then she turned her nose around, ignoring her rider’s threats, and came pelting down the dusty road again. Her nose high in the air as she raced like a bolt of lightning back to Castiel. Dean was cursing again, his chest heaving as he pulled on Impala’s reins. 

“I would not upset her anymore than you already have,” Castiel said with confidence and she reacted to Dean’s shouted instructions by bucking up onto her hind legs. Dean was an excellent rider and only because of that did he not get thrown off her back. 

“Calm down,” Castiel grab her reins and stroked her on the nose. She gentled abruptly, nudging into his chest, tongue darting out to lap the back of his hand. “Dean is to be treated with kindness. Now let me on.” 

Dean was wide eyed when the horse lowered her front hooves in a quasi bow. Castiel climbed on behind Dean, grabbing the reins with both hands, hooking his leg over Dean’s to scratch Impala in her favourite spot. She took off again, galloping proudly, Sam and his horse trailing far behind. She knew the way home off by heart and Castiel let her have her freedom. Dean sat silent and stiff in the saddle before him, though his eyes were wide open and taking in the scenery of the increasingly more rural landscape. As the city disappeared behind them and the hills turned mountainous, the landscape changed from buildings to fields. They entered Castiel’s dominion after a couple hours of riding, the fields of grape vines and grazing herds laying out before them full of fruiting boughs and fat livestock. A few of the tenants recognised Impala and stopped to give a friendly wave or shout a greeting. The horse did not slow down, she stormed towards the villa perched on the hilltop, the painted walls glowing golden in the afternoon sun. 

“This is my home,” Castiel said when he dismounted. 

Sam was looking at the buildings with awe. Dean feigned disinterest but he stood by the cooling waters of the fountain and splashed his face. Castiel stared as the muck washed away to reveal milky skin though most of Dean’s face was still hidden by overgrown facial hair. 

Jack had obviously been told of their coming. He was standing at the entry way with a broad smile. 

“Where is the lady, Castiel?” He asked coming up to greet them. “And who are these gentleman?” 

Castiel cleared his throat. “The lady is Dean I suppose and his brother Sam.”

“Sam looks to be my age, Castiel, so he can be my companion,” Jack said reasonably. “Dean is all yours.” 

“I’m not anybody’s ... anything,” Dean interjected and Jack looked at him askance. Though Castiel had always treated everyone in the house as family, so Jack was not alarmed by Dean’s feisty response. 

“I’m definitely not your whatever,” Dean said again to Castiel. 

Castiel tilted his head and studied Dean. “It is just Jack and I here. We have a housekeeper who lives in the village and she comes and looks after things when there are guests. But usually it is just the two of us. So our needs are simple. Why don’t you and Sam follow Jack to the room we’ve prepared. We can talk about what work there is to do in the morrow. I’ll see you in the kitchen in a little while? I would like to change out of my travel clothes.” 

With some relief, Castiel watched as Jack led Dean and Sam into the shady atrium of the villa. Their quiet country estate suddenly seemed overwhelmingly crowded with the addition of the Winchesters. He was going to have to write an urgent missive to Gabriel and ask his brother to sort out the bargaining with Metatron. What had he done? Gone looking for a cook and ended up with two burley Celtic warriors instead. Dean was certainly looking at him like he might murder him in his sleep. Though Sam seemed friendly and patient, a gentle giant despite his looming height. Jack seemed to like him instantly and the feeling seemed mutual enough as the two young men bonded over their love of books and the outdoors as they chatted. 

Dean, judging by his pursed lips and glaring eyes, certainly seemed to feel intensely with regard to Castiel. What those feeling were however was up to debate. 

Castiel watched Dean as Jack offered everyone cool goblets of grape juice diluted with well water. There was passion and rebellion in Dean’s eyes the likes of which Castiel had not encountered before. Dean winked when he saw Castiel watching. Castiel lowered his eyes to his own cup. As if he was the servant and Dean the master. 

Dean was trouble and Castiel’s doom.


	2. Chapter 2

There was an intruder in his bedroom holding sweet rolls. Castiel was sure he had never met the man before and in his semi conscious state he had him up against the wall with a hand to his throat before the rolls had all fallen to the ground. Castiel blinked slowly and growled.

"Thought you weren't that kind of master," said the subtly accented voice, clear green eyes staring down at Castiel's open robe, glossy thick eyelashes fluttering over freckled cheekbones. 

Castiel sucked in a quick breath, recognising the voice immediately. "Dean?" 

The stranger looked up and smiled and Castiel's hand spasmed briefly before he let go and took three large steps backwards, clasping his hands behind his back, holding on to his own elbows as if trying to keep himself in check. 

Dean was still smiling, he looked much younger with all that pale facial skin on display. He had shaved and washed and trimmed his matted hair. What remained was glossy and auburn and thick and that was just the hair. Castiel was sure he had never met a more beautiful looking man. That mouth, previously hidden by Dean's beard, was utterly sinful. Not that Castiel was a man who usually noticed those sorts of things, but as he liked to draw, the symmetry of Dean's face was undeniable. Castiel was a man who recognised beauty in nature but to find it in other humans was a rare thing for him. Dean was a revelation, his blotchy dirty skin was milky beneath all the filth. He was wearing hunter's clothes, soft fawn coloured leggings and an emerald shirt that was a little small on him. 

"I baked," Dean leant down to pick up the sweet rolls and Castiel quickly lifted his gaze and affixed it to the wall. He couldn't quite work out why Dean in his too tight breeches made his face feel hot. "But I suppose they'll have to go to the hens now." 

"I will eat them," Castiel grabbed for the plate, Dean's knuckles slipped beneath Castiel's grasping fingers. The rolls went clattering to the ground again. One flying over Castiel's shoulder to land on the foot of his bed. 

Dean said nothing, dropping to one knee with a sigh. 

Castiel turned to the bed and fumbled awkwardly for the roll, stuffing it into his mouth to stave off the saliva suddenly flowing over his palate. It was honey sweet and buttery. This time he took the plate more carefully, sitting down amidst his bedding to quickly devour them all. For a man used to field rations and his own abominable cooking, Dean's rolls were almost too divine in taste and appearance for Castiel's poor brain to process. Castiel ate with gusto, eyeing Dean's expressive face in between huge bites. 

"If I pay you, would you make these to sell to me?" Castiel licked his fingertips clean of the last traces of honey. 

"Bit strange, paying your own slave to do some cooking?" 

"You're not my slave, I freed you yesterday," Castiel said swallowing the last mouthful with no small amount of regret that the delicious experience was over. "The moment you came onto this land, given to all retired soldiers of my garrison, you were freed. Along with your brother Sam. There is no bondage permitted here. The farmers you saw yesterday are all former warriors and their kin. They work the land and earn a decent living doing so. You and Sam are here as guests, you may go now or at another time of your own choosing." 

"I thought you needed a cook," Dean said after a pause. "If I prepare meals and otherwise make myself useful will you allow Sam and I to stay until we have saved enough provisions to make the journey home?" 

"You and Sam can stay without labouring," Castiel said. "Just share in the household chores." 

"I would like to be paid for my time," Dean was insistent. "We'll need to make a sea voyage if we are not willing to spend years toiling on Roman soil. You might consider us free, here on your land, once we hit the open road, I doubt others will think the same. Sam and I will need money to bribe our way to the ports and find a willing vessel to take us offshore." 

Castiel admired Dean's pragmatism. "Three months, you and Sam can both work for me. Sam as Jack's tutor, he has previously expressed an interest in learning new languages. You can fatten me up on more of those bread rolls. Help with the harvest at Fall and stay here where it is temperate for the Winter. In the Spring you can travel more safely." 

"I can fatten you on more than bread," Dean laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling, offering his hand. "I accept your bargain Castiel, shall we shake on the promised exchange or would you prefer some other physical token of mutual trust?" 

Ignoring Dean's meaningful wink, Castiel gripped Dean's forearm and Dean gripped him back. They were both strong men but the grip changed from firm to lingering within moments and Castiel wanted to let go but simply could not. So he stood awkwardly while Dean grinned at his discomfort. 

"Got something else you can grip tight if you want," Dean licked his lips. 

Castiel tipped his head to the side, staring at Dean's mouth mesmerised. 

That was when the door clattered open, with Sam and Jack rolling through the entry way, fists raised and shouting loudly. A tangle of long limbs and determined expressions. Jack with his hand on Sam's braid and Sam with his arm looped around Jack's neck. 

"Do you yield?" Sam grunted. 

"Never!" Jack panted, tugging on Sam's hair ruthlessly. "I am son of Lucifer, heir of Castiel, my mother was a vestal virgin and I will not be beaten by a tall foreigner!" 

"Sam!" Dean tried to intervene but Castiel held him back. 

Jack breathed shallowly in Sam's hold, his face turning crimson. He hammered his fist on the bed, nodding when he finally ran out of air. Sam let him go immediately. Jack took a few breaths, his face clearing into a wide smile. 

"You have got to teach me how to do that!" Jack looped his arm through Sam's and started to drag him away. "Come on Castiel, Sam and I came to tell you about the feast Dean made in the kitchen. But we got a little sidetracked with the wrestling. Come and see." 

Dean walked out of Castiel's bedroom with a cocky swagger, Castiel was dubious. Surely there could be nothing in the world more delicious and tempting than Dean's sweet buns? 

* * * 

Castiel had erred. He had underestimated Dean's skills in the kitchen and his own rare show of gluttony. The table was still mostly covered in dishes filled to the brim. Every ingredient Dean touched seemed transformed by magic into some tasty morsel that Castiel could not resist. Perhaps Dean was Bacchus incarnate, thought Castiel, the god of food and wine and hedonistic delights. The wine tasted sweeter poured from his hands and the fruits turned more succulent at his touch. Castiel wandered from the kitchens in a daze, leaving Dean and Sam and Jack to clean up. He escaped down the hill to the nearby stream, taking off his sandals to dip his feet in the cooling water. It was late Summer and perhaps Castiel had somehow caught a case of heat stroke, though he had been inside all morning. In truth it was probably Dean's company. Castiel was at a loss to explain the strange effects his new house guest had on him. Castiel wondered if perhaps they had met before, in some long ago battle but there had been too many for Castiel to recall. Ten years ago he had visited the misty isles and he remembered the hide and seek warfare of that cold sombre land. The people he had fought had been toughened by the cold and his own troops relied on sheer strength of numbers. The stubborn will of the people had left an impression upon Castiel. He had been relieved when Gabriel had recalled his garrison back to fight in the warm climes of the east. Castiel did remember one female warrior he had encountered, she was a cunning leader and though they had never met on the battlefields in person, her reputation had struck dread into even the most experienced Roman foot soldiers. Mary of the Campbells had been her name, Castiel wondered if Dean had heard of her. 

He knew nothing of Dean and Sam for that matter. Not which clans from which Dean descended, or what region of Briton his people came from. How did he come to be in Rome enslaved by Metatron? Not every war captive was brought back to the metropolis. Why was Dean here? Why did he offer to stay, indenturing himself and his brother, it seemed rather too convenient. Castiel might be awestruck by the sheer presence of the man but he was no fool. Already he could deny Dean nothing and so long as Jack was safe Castiel was willing to wait for Dean's designs to unravel. 

So he sat beneath the shade of a water willow and sketched with a stick in the muddy banks. The shape of mesmerising eyes and lips, delaying his chores in the fields. Castiel dozed off after a while and when he opened his eyes again, Dean was sitting beside him, fishing with a newly made rod of reed and string. Sam and Jack were walking through the fields, in the distance, the dogs at their heels. The scene was calm and serene, filling Castiel with a strange sense of home and hearth. 

"They are going hunting," Dean informed Castiel. "Just over in the woods over there. Sam and I are good at feeding ourselves off the land."

"The farms yield plenty of food, the soil here is heavy and volcanic," Castiel said, stubbornly choosing to discuss geology rather than watch Dean slowly roll up the cuffs of his breeches and dangle his feet into the crisp water. 

"I will never understand how Romans choose to settle in these regions, foolhardy and short sighted to live in the shadow of an angry mountain. How do you bear it?" 

"We pray to our gods in our lararium altars and reap the harvests while the fates allow us. Human industry is less fickle than destiny. We toil and are rewarded for our sweat." 

Dean took in Castiel's words with a considered expression. "You're not what I expected." 

"You had expectations of me?" 

"It was no accident I broke into the viewing room when you were there. Everyone knew you were the important customer Metatron would see that day. Ruby and Rowena vied for the opportunity to meet you. I knew I had no chance in my dishevelled state, so I entered by force." 

"Is Metatron short on clients?" 

"No, of course not, he traffics without shame. We heard you were coming. The famous Castiel, commander of the garrison that roamed from battlefield to battlefield for seventeen years. Now turned politician and philosopher. The man who flood deserts and forests with blood." 

Castiel looked down at his idle hands, his head bowed, not disputing what Dean was saying. 

"The brother of the current governor of Rome. Ranked amongst the wealthiest of the oligarchy that rule the city. Once, twice, thrice married to the most influential women of Rome but always ending up alone. There are rumours you're a Christian, or that you are somehow chaste despite living amidst the corruption of the Empire. Of course you were worth the risk." 

"It was not to stir my pity, that display of caring for your brother," Castiel said with certainty. "That much was genuine, I could see and feel your fear. Why did you not show your face to me then?"

"Are you easily swayed by a pretty face?" 

"Who said I thought you pretty?" 

Dean laughed, a soft warm deep laugh that made the fishing rod dip and tremble. 

"You have eyes Castiel," Dean said teasingly, stretching out his legs and leaning back onto the grass, fishing rod haphazardly stuck into the soft ground. His eyes caught the glimmering sun shining through the leafy canopy and Castiel was overcome with the urge to lean over Dean. 

"I concede I would like to utilise your face, perhaps, even your body," Castiel said uncertainly. 

Dean turned to grin at Castiel, his eyelashes drooping over his irises coyly. "How might you do that?" 

"You could be my life study, a model for my drawings," Castiel said. "I like to draw and paint as a hobby. It relieves the stress of being in Rome." 

"I would not be adverse to helping you relieve stress," Dean brushed his hand down his collar, the fabric fell open at his touch, there were dark lines of ink peeking from his chest. 

Castiel swallowed. "You would be clothed of course." 

Dean pouted, his eyes rolling skyward. "Prude." 

"Hardly," Castiel said defensively. "I am comfortable with nudity, half of the senate's affairs are carried out in the baths. I merely do not wish to confuse things between us." 

"How might things between us be confused?" Dean baited. "You're not my master, so you have said time and again. Perhaps I enjoy catering to your needs. What if you could serve me? Perhaps we could take turns satisfying each other." 

"Are you speaking of food?" Castiel stuttered. 

Dean shook his head slowly, his eyebrows raised. Castiel felt a flush of heat rise up from his toes, drowning him in breathless expectation. Dean shifted closer and suddenly Castiel was half on top of him when the rod began to bow and someone yelled his name from afar. Castiel scrambled to get up, while Dean grabbed his hip and anchored him to the shore. With his other hand he was grabbing for the fishing rod, Castiel slipped and they fell, rolling, one over the other, into the stream. The water was refreshingly cold and Castiel felt hands on his chest and legs between his as he resurfaced. The shock of the cold less surprising than the heat of Dean's chest plastered to his back, pushing and nudging him towards the muddy banks. Castiel clambered back onto the riverbank, the figure standing under the tree was whistling loudly for his attention. 

"Is this the man you have fallen for?" Gabriel called out. "Metatron wanted a hefty price for his hide. But at least you're enjoying his company." 

Castiel was soaking wet, he frowned up at Gabriel who was staring at Dean. 

Castiel turned to see the Celt in a sodden state, still submerged up to his knees, the fabric of his already fitted clothing clinging to every muscle. He looked like Apollo with the sun lighting up his face. Or Venus as she arises from the ocean. 

"Do I detect a trace of happiness in your mien brother?" Gabriel took his hand and dragged him up clean of the muddy banks, all the way up to the top of the hill. 

"How did your bargaining go?" Castiel asked, wringing out his robe. 

"Metatron asked for the moon and the stars," Gabriel sat down in the shade. "Then I reminded him of his taxation obligations and suggested an audit of his books. He is currently packing to leave Rome, urgent business abroad he says. He is in such a rush that he sends his apologies he could not come and bid you farewell and thank you for your custom in person. In any case he has offered a few tokens of appreciation for your favouring of his enterprise. They are waiting in the cart." 

"They?" Castiel asked in shock. 

Gabriel just laughed. 

Castiel managed to get changed before he met with the people waiting in the sitting room. They were familiar faces. Ruby and Rowena and Gadreel. The three of them standing around while Hannah, Castiel's housekeeper, took measure of them. 

"I do not need this many helpers," Castiel said exasperated. 

"Och, why don't we go and find the slave owner again then," Rowena said with bitterness. "Surely, we are not his sort of servant. Well, looking at Gadreel I would have thought at least he was your type." 

"None of you are required," Castiel tried to explain. "You're all free to go." 

"I was told you needed a guard for your house, what with the many beautiful ladies residing with you now," Gadreel nodded towards Rowena and Ruby.

Castiel felt overwhelmed, like he was living in a farce. 

"I have asked you all nicely, please leave!" 

Dean came through the door, drying his hair with a balled shirt, his chest bare. The tattoo over his heart was round and dark. A wreath of fire around the five pointed star. 

"Ruby!" Dean called out. "Sam would be delighted to see you are safe. And Rowena, you're here too." 

For Gadreel Dean only spared a cool look, but at least he did not lash out. 

"Is it a festival?" Jack said as he entered with Sam, a wild fowl in his hand. "We caught game birds there's enough for all the guests." 

Gabriel was already moving to sit down next to Sam, conversing easily with him in Celtic. Castiel had always openly envied his brother for his gift with languages. Sam was talking animatedly and laughing at some terrible joke Gabriel was telling. 

Dean sat down beside Castiel, straddling the wooden bench. Jack was taking out the left over food from Dean's breakfast feast. Gadreel was losing his mind over the bread rolls and Rowena picked daintily but hungrily at the fresh fruit. Castiel's face softened. He could use more hands for the harvest and Hannah can sort out employment and payment for each new house guest. They were warm and friendly with each other for the most part and they looked like a rag tag family of their own devising. 

"You're smiling Cas," Dean whispered into his ear. 

Castiel hid his face behind his water goblet but Dean was watching him closely. 

"I saw that the room next to yours is empty. I'll move my things there tonight. We need to make space for the ladies. Would you like that Castiel? Having me close by ready for your beck and call?" 

"I would not call for you in the night," Castiel began to say. 

"You'll call for me over and over in the night," Dean smirked. "That is a promise Castiel."


	3. Chapter 3

Though Castiel's life was much changed since the day Dean Winchester fought his way through the slaver's den to his side, it was undoubtedly for the better. Though Dean frustrated Castiel to his wits' end. Whereas his brother Sam was a diligent tutor and polite house guest, Dean made himself a nuisance for Castiel's sole benefit. If Castiel worked the fields, Dean was always in sight, proffering carefully packed bundles of rich meats and churned cheese. Taking his shirt off when the sun blazed hot, splashing himself with liberal pails of well-water, so that Castiel made a mess of the weeding and pulled out entire grapevines by mistake. When Castiel tended the beehives, Dean stuck his finger into the honeycomb and bit and sucked and licked at the overspill over his own wrist in a gluttonous manner. 'To check the nectar is sweet' so he said as he glossed his mouth with the golden syrup, making Castiel stare and blush. Dean watched with eyes ablaze when Castiel sparred with his retired solider-farmers, in a bid to keep the former warriors limber and their families capable of self-defence. He challenged every young man who sought attention from Castiel, claiming that they were not worthy of Castiel's instructions until they could at least defeat his 'servant'. When he had lain aside all the hopeful men, Dean threw himself at Castiel, sword raised. Till Castiel disarmed him and pinned him to the ground, whereupon Dean's sweaty face bloomed into a seductive and triumphant smile. Castiel was forced to cancel all the remaining training sessions for the month, for fear of being so close to Dean again. 

In short, there seemed no escape from Dean's lovely face and summery temper. Not even in Castiel's library where he liked to read poetry in ancient Greek and sketch. Every love poem evoked the same pair of bewitching eyes in Castiel's mind. Every virtuous figure of lore seemed to wear Dean's features. All the drawings eventuated into portraits and he spent three days trying to sketch out Dean's right hand when he modelled for Castiel's attempt at Dionysus. Watching Dean recline in a pool of silk, munching on grapes was more torture than any sane man could endure so Castiel switched over to fighting poses. Dean as Apollo with a bow and arrow, fully dressed, seemed innocuous enough until Castiel lost a whole week to Dean's muscled calves, waking up covered in sweat in his bed one night, with an urge to measure the proportions from ankle to thigh with his own bare hands. It was impropriety to have such thoughts for a guest, strange and fascinating though those thoughts seemed. 

It was not the case that Castiel had been too lonely too long. There were other new people in the house and none drove Castiel to distraction the way Dean did. Rowena was very beautiful and witty and Ruby seemed to possess the same wild fierceness as Dean. Even Gadreel was more than conventionally attractive and he looked at Castiel with admiration. What made Dean's attentions so visceral and enchanting Castiel could not work out. Perhaps it was heathen magic imbued into the food Dean tempted Castiel to imbibe with little difficulty. Castiel had never in his life been so well fed and still felt deprived of something crucial and unreachable. 

Dean became Castiel's shadow, the reflection of Narcissus in the stream, too close and yet too far. Falling for him was dangerous, that much Castiel knew but such thoughts were of little concern for a man hurtling out of the sky like Icarus with his wings on fire. 

"I want the night off," Dean said to Castiel after dinner one late summer evening. 

Castiel looked up from the last bite of an apple filled baked pastry, astounded. Dean wasn't going to trail after him all evening? No knocking on the library door over and over until Castiel invited him in to read? Not even a suggestive exchange about warming up a bath for his use? 

"You have every evening off, Dean, how you spend your time is entirely of your own choosing," Castiel shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage. What was unsaid was of course the fact that Dean always chose him. 

"Tonight I would like to be alone in the herb garden," Dean stretched languidly as Sam and Jack got up to clear up the dishes. 

"Of course," Castiel looked away from the long lean lines of Dean's torso. "I will be in the library, if you need me." 

"Though most nights your presence is needed and wanted by me, Cas. Tonight, you are not needed," Dean grinned. "I must go to get ready now, see you in the morrow." 

Castiel nodded and watched as Dean left the room with a joyful little bounce to his steps. Castiel wondered if he should ask Hannah for the village gossip. Was Dean wandering the fields with some willing maid or local lad? (And alas who would not be willing?) Did he have a friend or a lover waiting for him in the dark wilderness? Sam's open face regarded Castiel with a thoughtful look. 

"If you stay awake past midnight," Sam said quietly when Dean was gone. "Look out from your northern window towards the elderflower tree. He communes with nature that is all." 

Castiel bided his time with some histories and idle writing in the library. Then it was time for bed and he washed haphazardly out of his vanity basin. It was a balmy evening and the threatening clouds were chased away by a relieving wind front. The moon was so heavy and full that it lit up the entire herb garden like a low hung lantern. The whole house was asleep except for Castiel and as he stood by his window and squinted at the elderflower he saw a pale shape emerge from the bushes. It was Dean, in complete naked glory, wearing a wreath of white flowers and bathing in the moonlight. He held some branches in his hand and hummed a low sweet song that was too faraway to decipher the words but the melody was hauntingly beautiful. Castiel watched with clenched hands as Dean bowed to the moon, kneeling in the fertile soil. With a lightning fast movement he thrashed the whip of young wood over his own back, though it was impossible to see, Castiel could imagine the faint pink line the light little tap would have left on Dean's tender flesh. Dean made a small enticing sound of bliss and with another flick of his hand dealt himself another sensuous blow. Castiel felt himself overcome suddenly, heat spreading out in his stomach and thighs like he had drank excessively of unwatered liquor. He was intoxicated by desire as Dean writhed on the ground, faint sounds of satisfaction drifting in the heavily perfumed air. It was a fertility rite, some archaic Druidic ritual to bless the ground and make it produce. A mere nature ritual, Castiel tried to convince himself, but it was happening right outside his bedroom window and the sounds Dean was making would make the gods fight over him. Castiel watched, mesmerised as Dean threw aside the stick and ran wine dampened hands over the markings, then tip his head up and drink down the flask of wine. He could hear so keenly now each sigh and the sound of friction as Dean took himself in hand. He could see every detail in his fevered mind as Dean spasmed, jerking legs and arching back. The noises grew urgent and louder as Dean pulled out his essence and drenched the ground, groaning with satisfaction as he anointed the soil. Then he looked up, beatific face with lidded eyes, right at Castiel's window. And Castiel held himself through the fabric of his own tunic, biting his lips as the wool scratched over his sensitive genitals. Leaning his head into the windowsill as he rubbed himself hard and fast, swallowing his cries even as he gasped for release, feeling almost faint as he splattered his own palms. Dean was staring at him, bathed in silver moonlight, with a crooked smile and lazy eyed. 

He woke to the sight of a pot of honey tea and a tired looking Dean, stealing sips from the his cup. 

"Good morrow Castiel," Dean greeted him with an innocent smile. "Did you sleep well?" 

Castiel rolled over guiltily, trying not to draw attention to the pile of soiled laundry he had dumped beside his bed. 

"I came to check on you when I returned from my uh customary practices but you were sound asleep, the sounds you made in your dreams on the other hand," Dean batted his eyelashes. "You must have had a good night." 

"I really should lock my bed chamber doors."

"What's the point of me having the room next to yours if you do that, Castiel? How would I come in and watch you squirm in your slumber? How might I enjoy myself then?"

"I'm not here for your enjoyment," Castiel was feeling rather rash. "I'm not some ... some maid for you to tease." 

"I don't tease maids, usually," Dean said with a doe eyed look. "I only tease you Cas. I like it when you blush, it is becoming on you." 

"I'm not a prize for conquest either." 

"Is that what people do to you? Stake their claims and then leave? You had wives did you not? And they left?" 

"Claire's mother was a tribal princess, already pregnant when her husband was slain in war, she wed me to shore up an alliance. I was young and she was in need of a consort to claim her position as queen. Not long after, she left to rule her own territory." 

"And the second one?" 

"Daphne was a widow and Michael was pressuring her to wed him so that he could become trustee to her fortune when her father died. She chose me for an alliance against him. She has been travelling, getting to know the world the men kept from her since." 

"How noble of you. And Jack's mother?" 

"A vestal virgin corrupted by Lucifer. When she was cast out by the oracles, they cursed her unborn child that he would grow up to slay his own father. Lucifer became afraid and violent and she saw his true face and wanted protection. Few in Rome could stand up to his influence, I was fortunately one who could help her and her new born son Jack. So I did. She has since returned home to her sisterhood, leaving Jack to my care." 

"Castiel the do-gooder, saviour of independent minded women. And what about men? Loyal allies, lonely soldiers, your comrades in arms? Any of them catch your interest?" 

"There have been offers but I don't have, didn't have, the inclination." 

Dean smiled, his mouth overly pink, his eyes jade. "And now, how is your appetite in that regard?" 

"Is it a love spell?" The words flew out of Castiel's mouth before he could catch them, he felt the heat flare up in his cheeks. 

"So you were watching me, I imagined that you were watching last night. Made it better, made me come faster and harder." 

Castiel froze, his whole body going stiff and alert. 

"The answer to your question is it depends, do you feel like you are in love?" Dean ran his eyes down Castiel's body. "I can certainly see that you are in lust." 

Dean was leaning over Castiel, half climbed onto the bed, pretty much in Castiel's lap. His mouth red with anticipation, his eyes flickering as he stared at Castiel's lips. 

Castiel licked his lips in an attempt to moisten them, like a man dying of thirst in the desert. Dean had seen him, had thought of him, had performed for him. Dean was poised to kiss him. 

Was in fact kissing him. His mouth hot, hotter, than the lava spilling from volcanoes. His tongue brutal and sweet in turns. His hands quick and questing inside the bedclothes and Castiel exerted the last of his will to pull away, to walk to the door and to limp to the bath and lock the entrance shut against Dean. He could not, he would not. 

Not if Dean was just playing games, not if Dean wasn't playing for keeps. 

Not when he knew so little and cared so much. 

And Dean was right of course, all the people who came into Castiel's life, with promises of love and family, left just as quickly as they had extracted from him what they needed. 

Dean was staging a seduction and though Castiel was thoroughly seduced he was not going to succumb to Dean's designs. 

Castiel rushed through his wash and ensured that Dean was not waiting outside the bathing room before making his exit. He jogged to the stables and found Impala pacing restlessly inside. Not even bothering with the saddle, he mounted her bareback and took off in a gallop. He was going to be sore after that ride but that was probably better than an agony of bliss. Impala took him up the stream and through the woods, rounding back past the vineyard and finally came to a stop in the orchard. Dean was nowhere in sight and Castiel let the horse take the lead and predictably she went straight for the fallen fruit beneath the largest apple tree in the fruit forest. Castiel dismounted and let out his anger with a blow to the tree trunk. His hand smarting, he trudged through the overgrown grass back towards the wandering horse. 

The serpent laying in wait struck him at speed. The pain sharp on his leg, close to his crotch. Castiel managed to hit the horse with the flat of his hand as he fell to the ground. She looked at him and sniffed his wound, kicking up her legs as the snake slithered towards her, she turned and galloped away, the snake slowly meandering after her. 

Castiel lay on his back, the sun dappling through the canopy of the leaves. They were turning gold and red with the approach of fall. Castiel was fallen already. 

It was perhaps a few minutes, or perhaps some life times, before he could hear familiar hooves galloping towards him. Dean leapt off Impala's back and was pulling back Castiel's clothes. He found the snake bite quickly enough. 

"Don't move Cas," Dean commanded. "Keep still and calm, the slower your heart beats the better." 

Then he bent over the puncture wounds and sealed his mouth around the bite, sucking gently and drawing blood from Castiel's thigh. 

"It's not overly poisonous a species of serpent," Castiel murmured. "I would be dead by now if it was." 

"I'll be the judge of that," Dean said after spitting out a mouthful of blood, diluted pink by saliva. 

"I was just winded by the pain." 

"It isn't sweet the way snake poison can taste," Dean conceded. "But I need to draw out more blood, to clean out the wound. It will hurt." 

Castiel lay still and compliant until Dean was satisfied. He felt faint and his heart was racing. 

"I need to tie off the wound," Dean said and tore at Castiel's tunic, ripping the fabric into long strands that he wound tightly around Castiel's upper thigh. "There. Perfect. Are you able to get up?" 

Castiel made no movement. 

"Come on Cas, wanna get you home," Dean tugged on his shoulders. 

Castiel stared into the tree. 

"I'm sure I cleaned it all out," Dean leaned down to prod at the puncture wound. 

Castiel let out a helpless hiss and his hands, of their own accord, grabbed Dean by the ears. 

"Dean ... please ... please." 

Dean's eyes flicked up to peer into Castiel's. 

"I need ..." Castiel rubbed at Dean's temples with his thumbs. 

Dean blinked and seemed to understand. He turned his head and swallowed Castiel down to the root, taking in the straining organ and lavishing it with strokes of his tongue. Castiel's hips snapped foward even as his shoulders melted into the grassy ground. 

"Hurts, good," Castiel moaned pitifully. "Dean." 

Dean laboured industriously, greedily, over Castiel. Holding and stroking and comforting with his mouth. It took mere moments for Castiel to expel himself violently down Dean's throat, watching with glazed eyes as Dean swallowed everything down. No spitting this time. 

Castiel closed his eyes. Maybe there had been poison, maybe it was a fevered dream, maybe he was in paradise. Dean was gathering him into his arms and putting him on top of the horse, Dean was draping himself over his back, locking him in with his thighs. Dean was warm and safe and so Castiel closed his eyes and gave in.


	4. Chapter 4

"This will forestall the infection," Dean said, a bouquet of herbs and flowers in his hands, face haloed in the dawn light. Vaguely, Castiel recalled the feverish afternoon of riding in Dean’s arms, the reigns of Impala gripped tightly in Dean’s hands. He remembered words whispered into his hair, murmured into his ear, endearments and soft encouragements. Castiel’s face caught on fire as he recalled how Dean had treated his wound in the fields. Had that happened? Was it a dream? 

Fragments of the evening before returned, Jack’s concerned face and Hannah’s gentle care. His room filled with onlookers as the retired field physician Balthazar examined him. Dean feeding him something on a spoon, curling up at at his feet to spend the night. Dean mopping his brow in the night, holding him as he trembled through the worst of the fever. And now it was morning and he was still alive. 

Castiel leaned his head back and stared wide eyed as Dean placed a few stems into his mouth and chewed the herbs into a pulp. Carefully he spat the green ball of sap into the palm of his hand. “Don’t worry, the physician said I can use my own ‘heathen medicine’ on you, so long as we keep you bandaged and clean.” 

Castiel watched wordlessly as Dean busied himself preparing the mixture of camomile and lemon balm. Castiel’s room was quickly filling up as news of his wakefulness spread through the house. 

"The saliva makes it stick better," Dean said as he pulled Castiel's robe up, idly wiping a clean wet cloth over the wound, then smearing the paste on with his fingers. "And it warms up the poultice." 

To Castiel’s Roman eyes the practice seemed unhygienic but Dean was a practitioner of pagan rituals where bodily secretions were held to have powerful properties. He suspected Dean to be a Druid or some other witchy practitioner. Dean was charm and ease personified as he carefully pulled apart the dressing over Castiel’s wound, seeming pleased with the progress of the healing. 

Jack and Sam had averted their eyes as soon as they entered, though Gadreel was still staring. Hannah, at least, had opted to stand outside the door given the delicate spot where Castiel had been bitten by the serpent. Though she was still talking through the wooden barrier, asking questions about how Castiel was faring. 

"I am not dead, though given how much everyone is invading my privacy in this moment, I wish somewhat that I was," Castiel said. "It hurts and my head feels like there's a wasp nest inside." 

"Yeah, he would fare better if you all leave us alone," Dean said, stuffing more wild leaves and strange plants into his mouth. "I gotta clean out the wound." 

"Oh, I know what's involved in that treatment," Sam tugged on Jack's sleeve and admonished Gadreel until the guard finally agreed to go with them. 

Dean rolled his eyes and reached for the small jar of freshly pressed olive oil. Castiel blinked in confusion while Dean pulled his robes off and over his head entirely, gently guiding Castiel by the elbow to avoid too much jostling. 

"Do not be shy, I have seen everything already,” Dean said lightly. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. On the contrary ...” 

Castiel lay passively on his front as Dean prattled compliments and rubbed the oil over his back in broad soothing strokes. 

“So many battle scars,” Dean ran ticklish oily fingers over the faded white lines that covered Castiel’s torso. “I would love to hear tale of each and every one.” 

“You’re here for three months, not three years,” Castiel said a little gruffly. 

“I worry what would happen to you when I am gone, what if there are more snakes?” 

“That was just bad luck, I’ve walked through the jungles of the tropics and not experienced such inconvenience.” 

“The immortal Castiel, battlefield angel, but who would rub your back and quicken your circulation to ease you into a quick recovery? Who would kiss your scars as they heal over?” 

Castiel shuddered when he felt Dean’s breath ghost over his moistened spine. 

There was wet heat, breath or mouth or tongue trailing down to his ass. Castiel held himself still, his fists clenching, perhaps he was just imagining it, maybe he was losing his mind, Dean would not ... 

He let out a sharp squeal when Dean bit firmly into his right buttock. 

“Just checking you’re still awake Cas,” Dean said flippantly, hands roaming ever so freely, like he owned Castiel. “I need you awake for this part.” 

Calloused hands grabbed Castiel by the hips and pivoted him onto his back none too gently. 

“What happened to treating the infirm with kindness?” 

“Oh, you are firm enough,” Dean’s eyes dropped down and he licked his lips. “I will lavish you with kindness.” 

Castiel felt his pulse quicken dangerously, his skin heating up as Dean neared. He was lost and Dean, considerately, placed his hand over Castiel’s mouth to smother his cries. 

His hips bucked as soon as Dean sunk his mouth over his length. Castiel pushed hard and fast, inserting himself down Dean’s throat with abandon. Dean choked, inhaling sharply through his nose, then his throat relaxed and rippled around Castiel drawing a flood of fluids in one long swallow. Castiel had never come so quickly in his life, it was laughable and embarrassing and ridiculously satisfying. His skin was still buzzing as Dean checked and rewrapped his bandages. His lungs still heaving when Dean wrapped his arms over Castiel’s torso. His brain a fuzzy warm sponge in the cavern of his brain as Dean laid his head down over his heart. 

The physician had suggested changing his bandage thrice a day. Castiel was not sure he would survive the week. 

* * * 

The chicken soup was fragrant and flavoured with rosemary. The flesh tender and silken on his tongue. Dean was blowing softly on the spoon, his berry pink lips pouting as he blew. Castiel shifted in his bedding, his bandages had come off the day before and Dean made no motion to massage him or to give his usual unique form of pain relief. When the bowl was empty, Dean tided up around the room, stacking the dishes into a tray and ensuring that the scrolls Castiel had been reading were carefully put away. 

“Do you have any other use for me tonight, Cas?” 

Castiel stared at Dean, clearing his throat to get the words out. “... No.”

“Very well,” Dean smiled, picking up the tray and leaving the room. 

And just like that, things were back where they started. And Castiel was left relieved and yet bereft. 

It had been natural magic, some superstitious belief that drove Dean to experiment so with Castiel’s body. Perhaps all patients were treated thus in the misty isles and marriage and morality did not come into it. It was just a bodily thing, something within Dean’s power to provide and he - kind and giving as a man or as a lover - gave Castiel what he needed. Castiel dared think of Dean as something of a lover only in the sanctity of his own mind. Dean had never spoken of any romantic inclinations towards Castiel, they were still ostensibly master and servant even if Castiel thought of Dean as friend and saviour. The worst part was the rebellion of Castiel’s body. A long neglected field tasting spring rain for the first time since a long wintery solstice. Though Castiel’s mind could admonish and discipline and reason, his flesh yearned for Dean. Responded to the man’s presence in the room like a needle towards the polar north. 

“Are you ... in heat?” Gabriel said to Castiel after one of his dinner visits. “Or ill? You blush when that servant is in the room, your hands tremble when he pours your wine.” 

“Dean is a guest,” Castiel began to say. 

“In your bed?” Gabriel interrupted. “I know he has the room next to yours. Is he paying you visits in the night? Or you him?” 

“No,” Castiel insisted. “No of course not.” 

“Shame,” Gabriel said thoughtfully. “I thought you might let yourself go for once, we’re not at war anymore, you are allowed to enjoy yourself now and then.” 

“I have enough leisurely pursuits and as you know romance was never my forte,” Castiel bit into a piece of cake, the buttery crumbs drenched in honey. Dean had noticed his loss of appetite and was making a special effort to fatten Castiel up. 

“People isn’t your forte,” Gabriel muttered. “Unless it is leading them to risk their lives, in which case you seem to have a gift for inspiring action.”

Castiel glared at Gabriel but all his brother did was gulp the wine and obnoxiously sigh at the taste. 

“Who knew someone with so little romance in his soul could make such delicious brews,” Gabriel teased. “Are your vinyards ready for the harvest yet? It has been some time.” 

“In a few weeks, perhaps, if the weather remains as hot as it has been,” Castiel said. “I hope I am able to partake of the labour when I am again well.” 

“I would assist you,” Dean said, coming over to deposit a tray of cured meats and cheeses before Castiel. “My brother and I we are strong and more than able to pick some grapes.” 

“Oh you both look strong,” Gabriel stole a plump sausage from Castiel’s platter.

“It is not just the harvest, the fields need to be plowed with ash to enrich the soil for the next season,” as they chatted Castiel drank some of the spring water that Dean had prepared, since Dean had forbid even the most diluted of wine. 

That meant climbing the mountainous hills every morning and carrying it back to the house. A journey Dean undertook every day without complaint. Though Castiel insisted he would do just as well drinking from the aqueducts, Dean more forcefully insisted on his belief that natural springs were better for his health. Dean was as attentive as a mother hen and fierce as the most cantankerous cockerel if anyone or anything threatened to disturb Castiel’s recovery. There was something of a rivalry developing between Gadreel and Dean which ended in some horrifying face off in the orchard that Hannah relayed to Castiel. Jack would not leave Dean alone for days, begging him to show him how to throw daggers with the same degree of accuracy. By the time Castiel limped to his library window, he could see Dean drawing back a lowbow with incredible ease, the arrow burying itself up to the shaft in a distant marker. Gadreel’s shaft could not reach the same distance and missed the target altogether. Henceforth Gadreel said nothing more of keeping watch over Castiel through the night and stood guard from a distance during the day. His hawkish eyes still vigilant but a little more deferring to Dean. 

Castiel wondered what that display portended. He was not vain and did not think misguided jealousy would drive Dean to challenge a man as skilled and capable as Gadreel. He wondered about how Dean had penetrated his inner circle, his home and hearth, in so short a period of time. How did someone with all of Dean’s capabilities end up in the appalling circumstances in which Castiel found him? It was obvious that Sam had been used as a hostage for Dean’s compliance but was that all? 

The crux of it though was that Castiel may be a strategist and see the implausibility of the situation he found himself in with Dean, his heart was less fearful and calculating. That organ was quickly giving over to Dean’s intimate touches, to the warmth of his body and his presence. What no one really knew about Castiel, commander and senator and philosopher and writer, was that he was to his core a reckless and foolhardy dreamer. A gazer at stars and Dean was the brightest star Castiel had ever wished upon. 

* * * 

“I’ve washed off the dirt and sweat,” Dean paraded his loosely robed body in front of Castiel. “Can I climb on with the others?” 

“I think,” Castiel said, his mouth running dry as Dean pulled up the hem of his robes and bundled them in his fists, revealing his bare freckled thighs. “You should have the honour of the first press, since you harvested the most grapes.” 

Everyone had come to the vineyard that day, all the unmarried men and women dressed in virginal white. All the grapes from Castiel’s vines were harvested at once, at the last opportunity before first frost could strike. It was still a balmy evening and the scent of the fruit which had sat in barrels in the sun all day was intoxicatingly sweet. 

“You are strong enough to help me in,” Dean said, taking Castiel by the hand. 

He led Castiel to the biggest barrel and smiled as he climbed in. Then he jumped so high that he landed kneed deep in the slush of grapes, splattering Castiel’s face with crimson juice. Dean laughed and wobbled sideways, almost falling down except for the hand Castiel offered him for balance. He grabbed Castiel by the forearm, his palm slippery and sticky. Dean trampled the fruit into pulp, laughing at the sensation of such delightful destruction. His nice new robe quickly turned a fetching shade of pink to match his sunburnt cheeks. Castiel did not care that his own clothes were dirtied, or that his groin ached with the exertion, only that Dean was playing joyfully at slaughtering the fruit, dipping his hand into the syrup for a taste. 

“This is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, here Cas, you should try it,” Dean thrust his index finger into Castiel’s mouth without forewarning, smearing the red flesh over Castiel’s bottom lip. 

Castiel stared a little cross eyed as Dean slowly withdrew his finger, no doubt everyone had seen, his face was no doubt ablaze redder than the setting sun. 

That night the village chose Dean as Bacchus for the harvest festival and Castiel could not say he was surprised. Dean radiated all that the autumn promised, delights and sweetness and satisfied appetites. Castiel watched as Dean danced with the village women and men long into the night, though when he fell asleep in his armchair under the willow tree, he woke to find Dean bundling him up in sheep skin and carrying him inside. Castiel was no youth, his body heavy with muscle and of late a little softer in parts thanks to Dean’s cooking, he was tall too for all his southern heritage but Dean carried him like a blushing bride all the way up to his bed chamber. 

Castiel was dropped into the centre of his bed, Dean crouched over him like some beast of prey. Dean was perfumed by the scent of grapes and wine and as he leaned forward a droplets of sweat over his brow fell onto Castiel’s lip. Castiel’s self control slipped and his tongue darted out to sweep the droplet onto his palate before he could think to stop. Dean peered down at him, his long lashed eyes doe-like and dark. 

“I have drank from you many times under the crescent and waning moon, but tonight the huntress, our harvest moon, is full and gloriously hung amongst the stars,” Dean said, his breath hot and fragrant. “And I am Bacchus, democratically elected, and I think it is your turn to imbibe of me, Castiel.” 

Castiel nodded and opened his mouth and Dean kissed him with a liberal tongue and even freer hands. Dean was a little clumsy in his eagerness, his usual teasing finesse given way to hedonistic gluttony. He rubbed himself along Castiel’s front one minute, then groped for his ass the next, then played with his feet, then feasted on his neck. 

“I have been containing myself, while you were weak,” Dean said with a leer. “But now you are fit enough for us to make this an equal match.” 

Then his hands were iron on Castiel’s shoulders, his legs braced over Castiel’s face, his movements fast and efficient and forceful and Castiel was filled to the brim with joy. He threw his own leg over Dean’s arm with flexibility that Dean probably did not expect. Skilfully, he wrestled Dean beneath him, grabbing hold of both hipbones and pinning Dean down so he could not thrust too deeply into his throat. Castiel licked and blew light breaths over the sensitive tip, Dean shuddering and squirming and seeping beneath him. Dean’s legs kicked jerkily as Castiel rubbed his bristled cheek over the soft underside of Dean’s scrotum and his thighs tightened and softened as Dean let out the most sinful moan. It was long, loud, wanton sound, drawn out and made up of wailing gasps in the end, fading to fast and silent pants. Castiel wiped his mouth with his palm. 

“Cas, please,” Dean managed to gasp out. 

Castiel wiped his hand on Dean’s stomach, rubbing the semen into his skin, painting and scribbling with what was left. Dean watched helpless and trembling as Castiel calligraphed on his skin. The sharp smell of it wafting in the room. Before the liquid could get cold, Castiel slid himself in it, slithering over Dean in quick deep thrusts until his own emissions erupted hotly. Pooling in the dip of Dean’s navel and hipbones, slithering along the slits of his thighs, dripping around and down behind his balls. 

Dean looked shaken and wide eyed but his hand remained tangled in Castiel’s, their fingers interlaced in a wrestler’s grip relaxed around each other into something full of soft feelings. They stared at each other in mutual shock until Dean pulled Castiel up with a palm on the back of his neck. Then there was kissing that seemed to go on forever, lingering and still desperate. 

Though their bodies were sated, Castiel realised with trepidation, their souls still hungered. 

* * * 

In the morning, Dean dressed efficiently and greeted Castiel as if nothing had happened. With a smirk he went to tend to the fire in the kitchen. Though Dean did leave his grape vine crown beside Castiel’s pillow, the mottled red leaves and autumnal flowers crinkling and wane. A still beautiful momentum that Castiel treasured. A still life for him to paint in his studio. The anticipation was over and the harvest done. There seemed nothing more to do except wait for the winter and when the frozen roads thaw again, Castiel expected that Dean would be gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an adjacent ficlet called Bacchic Delight which goes well with this chapter. It is collected in a series with Buying Rebel. (That ficlet exists because I wrote it to see if Roman AU would be my thing/readers’ thing and then Buying Rebel grew out of that idea).


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel sat back from the desk, his hands folded in his lap, and gave a long sigh. Dean looked up from the reading table where he was tidying Castiel's scrolls. The missive with an officious looking crest lay opened before Castiel. 

"Should I feed it to the fire like the rest?" Dean reached for the expensive parchment. "The letters from Michael burn so well and bright, must be all that costly parchment he uses." 

"I'm afraid not this one," Castiel pulled a face. "This came from his adoptive-mother Naomi and though Michael is powerful, Naomi is my aunt twice removed. I may be able to forestall an invitation to dine from another Senator, however formidable, but not from family.' 

"I have an inkling you don't much like him, is he arrogant or mean or ridiculous?" 

"He is ... Michael. Many years ago we were allies. Our familial ties through his mother bound us and he often found me useful for campaigns that pushed the boundaries of the empire. He was not pleased when I decided to retire, commanders do not cease their work except on the battlefield, he said. He tried to use honour to induce me to help him conquer more and more. But I have seen too much blood and too many of my men die leaving their families to mourn. He might have forgiven my retirement in the end but much to his surprise I chose to enter the elections and we have since often butted heads in the senate." 

"So you want me to spit in his wine or tempt his wife?" 

Castiel gave Dean a stern look. "He is unmarried, really Dean that's what you came up with off the cuff?" 

"I can't very well challenge him for you, not in my position as a servant when I go to Rome with you." Dean said with a coy wink. "Might reflect badly on your house." 

Dean's presumptuous assumption that Castiel would bring him to Rome brought a smile to his face. "I'm not bringing you, Dean, not when you are out to seduce good wives and taint good wine." 

"You are not keeping me locked out of sight in the countryside like some secret lover," Dean said firmly. "Are you afraid some swarthy Roman will take a fancy to me and steal me from your side?" 

"I hold no such fears," Castiel tried not to blink in the glare of Dean's eyes. "You are a free man..." 

"I am yours. Your bodyguard and your physician and your heart's delight," Dean said proudly. "I have saved you from the demon serpent and tended to you till you are once again in good health. I will not let you wander off into the metropolis without me as your guard and companion. Who will ensure you are eating your meals? Who will drag you to bed when you stay too long at your desk? You may be a warrior of infamy but I know how your left shoulder aches when you write too long and I alone can untie that knot."

Castiel stared at Dean aghast. 

"And only I can scratch that itch," Dean's eyes trailed low, he smirked, the red of his mouth showing. "Or kindle that fire." 

Dean was being incorrigible and Castiel should really take him to task for his insolence. Perhaps put his hand on Dean's shoulder and press him against the closest wall and listen to his heartbeat as it quickens. Castiel blinked, defeated by his own traitorous thoughts. Though Dean had nursed him most unconventionally, though he constantly flirted and teased, he had not graced Castiel with more intimacy since he was healed. Sometimes Castiel caught Dean watching him with a devouring gaze but all he ever did was look. 

"Besides, I was enslaved in Rome, I have never walked the streets freely," Dean finished in a quiet voice. 

Of course that single forlorn comment changed all of Castiel’s plans. 

* * * 

Castiel gave Impala to Dean to ride, as the horse was too impetuous and rough for his nascent recovery. Though he had oft ridden her during battle while enduring far worse injury, Castiel expected Dean was enough of a head strong charge for him to contend with on the journey to Rome, he did not need two. Castiel took the white ploughing mare for himself and could not help but grin at the delight on Dean's face when he handed him Impala's reins. After fetching the horses, they walked companionably back to the house to bid everyone farewell in the courtyard. 

Sam promised to keep up Jack's progress in Gallic, Ancient Greek and musical composition. Then he made Castiel promise he'll keep Dean out of trouble, much to Dean's annoyance. Jack was glad to have the house to himself and was already planning to cook a feast for his friends from the village. So Castiel pleaded with him not to burn down the kitchen, or if a fire was inevitable, to at least save his library from harm. Gadreel, Rowena and Ruby looked a little sour as they wished him safe travels. Ruby giving Dean a wrathful look for having the opportunity to accompany Castiel. Rowena was more interested in whether Gabriel will be visiting Castiel's country house to keep an eye on things while he is away, for what reason she was so interested in Gabriel's comings and goings Castiel dared not speculate. As for Gadreel, he has been reduced to more of a gardener than a bodyguard since joining Castiel's household. He saw more of the potatoes and carrots than he did of Castiel. He was well paid for his really very excellent work in the orchard and kitchen gardens and overseeing the workmen in the fields and vineyard, but did feel a little pushed out by Dean. Castiel had no idea why there was such a rivalry between Dean and Gadreel for his attention, since to be honest most of the time he had his nose buried in his books. Gadreel would have more luck catching his eye if he were rare Egyptian hieroglyphs or interesting theological texts. Or if, should the gods visit Castiel with the curse of truth, he was Dean.

The journey was taken at a more sedate pace than the one from Metratron's villa to Castiel's estate, back when Castiel freed the brothers from Metatron’s bondage. Dean was surprised by how little Castiel carried with him to make the trip to Rome and Castiel withheld the reason they were travelling so light. The half day's ride stretched out into a day and a half, so that Castiel could take Dean via the scenic route. They rode up the hilly mountains that long ago spilled the ash that enriched the soil. Castiel took Dean via the thermal springs and showed him the boiling streams in the early morning light, the mists made Dean's eyes well up with longing for his homeland and Castiel bade Dean to join him in dipping his legs in up to the knee. 

"The springs would be very good for your muscles, you have been favouring your other leg ever since the snake bite. Haven't you noticed the ache in your shoulders and back are all on that side? Come, we have hot springs where my family comes from, the water is therapeutic. Come Castiel, all the way up to your thighs, I'll hold your robes up for you if you like," Dean fussed and tugged at Castiel. 

So Castiel stood, his robes in his arms, his legs entirely exposed and his balls uncomfortably hot, while Dean watched him with an appraising expression. To Castiel's dismay, Dean did not wade in any further than ankle deep, his tight fitting hunter's leggings rolled up to his mid calf. 

"Don't burn your balls," Dean laughed as he retrieved something from the portable medical kit he carried. "I would prefer to save my salve for massages rather than scoldings." 

Castiel watched Dean's feet dip playfully in and out of the water. They were high arched with lean toes and the lines of his ankle made Castiel's mouth dry. Suddenly feeling very exposed with the hem of his robe up to his waist, Castiel waded out of the water and found a cool damp patch of grass to sit on. Dean came over with a linen cloth and began to wipe dry Castiel's legs, proceeding down onto Castiel's feet. He watched the steam evaporating off Castiel's skin with an indulgent smile then began smearing a herbal scented cream between Castiel's toes. Dean gripped Castiel's toes firmly and tugged on them, then balled up his fist and rolled his knuckles along the arch of his feet, drawing a salacious moan from him. 

"Seems we both enjoy each other's extremities," Dean said teasingly. "I saw you looking at my feet before." 

"Only for artistic purposes," Castiel muttered. 

"You are a liar and your eyes are hungry," Dean rubbed his hands up Castiel's calves, going against the grain of the muscle so that Castiel ached and was soothed at once. 

"We have not even left the boundaries of the village," Castiel grunted. "At this rate I'll have to send a message that we are delayed." 

"Would you like me to delay you here?" Dean said, his cheeks pink from the hot dip and his eyes bright seafoam green as if he were Castiel's personal siren. "Keep you in this forest by this spring in my enchantment, have you as my prisoner and my prince?" 

Since Dean's unorthodox snake poison treatment, he flirted shamelessly with Castiel when the mood took him but usually it was in jest and in front of other people in the house. He never came to Castiel's rooms alone at night for lovemaking, only to check that he is comfortable. For the first time in Castiel's life, he missed someone else's touch on his body. His physical body was drawn to Dean ever more so now that they had been intimate. Castiel got a little lost looking at Dean, all that green forest and blue sky, the mists and the scent of the wild flowers. If only the spring did not smell of rotten eggs and the woodland creatures were not closing in with beady eyes and handsy claws. 

"And you would be my princess?" Castiel countered. 

Dean tickled Castiel under his knee which made the Roman flop back and writhe in laughter. 

"You are right we cannot be delayed but promise you'll take me to another hot spring one day. Or better yet, find me in my homeland by the thermal pools of Bath. I would show you hospitality and return all the kindness you have shown to me." 

"Kindness?" Castiel scoffed. "You're the one saving my life and feeding my family with such loving devotion. Thank you Dean for keeping me company, and during my ailment, taking care of me." 

"Born to take care of you, Cas," Dean said playfully. "Could take care of you now, if you don't mind the critters and any wandering villagers stumbling upon our 'caretaking'."

Castiel blushed hotly, Dean seemed not too perturbed by the idea of discovery. Almost as if he would enjoy prying eyes witnessing his ministrations upon Castiel. It was hard to tell if Dean was teasing or if he meant what he offered. Castiel swallowed, his heart hammering in his chest, his brain confounded, his impulses conflicted. 

"Don't hurt yourself thinking, Cas," Dean snorted softly, withdrawing his wicked fingers from Castiel's calf with one last lingering look at his feet. 

It took Impala neighing impatiently after a quick sojourn in a meadow for Castiel to gather his wits, pull on his boots and climb on board his mount, Dean smirking as he took to his own saddle. The white mare led the black war horse out of the familiar woods and soon they were galloping through the fields. 

* * * 

Half way to Rome, Castiel surprised Dean with lunch at a farmer's house. The man who came out of the kitchen to join them for the meal was a surly looking fellow who had more battle scars on his arms and legs than Castiel did. He sat in amidst the roaming chickens and errant goats, offering Dean some blood sausage and blocks of hard cheese. Dean took one bite of the meat and gasped, gulping down the rest from his plate and stealing some form Castiel's too. 

"My wife is a Celt," said Singer the farmer, formerly a blacksmith in Castiel’s garrison. "So I learnt to make produce to suit her palate when I slaughtered livestock for the markets. The sausages and the cheeses you're eating are as close as I can approximate the cuisine of the Britons here in the Empire. But a chicken soup is the same everywhere, though I do top mine with her favourite dumplings. Well, she's not here anymore, but I got a taste for the meals myself and now I make the food in her honour and it is a comfort for me as well." 

Castiel enjoyed the dumplings too. They were stodgy and buttery and sat in his stomach like a warm embrace. It was nice to catch up with Singer too, he was not a man who was enamoured with war, but he did like to talk about the battles that were hard-won that had required more strategy than strength. 

"And you should see him, charging in on that magnificent colt that he had stolen from the sand dwelling tribe, swooping down like some wrathful god while the rest of us came out of our hiding places. The whole lot of them in a pinch point, they gave up their flag without a single drop of blood being shed. That was how we won the battle against the Brigands. Unbeknownst to us, their King had died of disease during the long siege. Our troops had only been there for a month and already we had taken their stronghold. It was all just arguments and trying to come to an agreement with the local people. Oh those were difficult negotiations. The Roman army that had been there before us had acted cruelly during the siege, Castiel had to enter negotiations personally as they vowed to die before they would negotiate with Michael’s men." 

Dean was clearly fascinated and begged for more of the tale. 

"Then, just when the negotiation was about to fall apart, three weeks past the deadline Rome specified, Castiel walks in with a veiled figure behind him. A pregnant woman who boldly unveiled herself and everyone on their side went silent. She was their queen and widowed, they had thought her dead and gone with her any hope of a non-Roman heir. But Castiel had found her in the slave markets, keeping a low profile and trying to smuggle herself away as freight. He convinced her that he would treat her with honour and her unborn child would be granted his or her birthright to all the lands of their father and mother. And to make it official, to give the Brigand queen status, he offered to marry her." 

"I don't like this story so much," Dean said quietly. 

"Not enough fighting in it for you?" Singer asked. 

Dean shrugged, his eyes lingering on Castiel. "Seems I'm not the first person he saved from a slave market." 

Singer looked from Dean to Castiel, he cleared his throat and grunted. "Who's ready for some sweet pie?" 

Dean ate so much of the food that he had trouble climbing back onto Impala and he was half dozing in a sedate cantor the rest of the way for the afternoon. He seemed to have enjoyed his meal and most of Singer's tales and he rode close to Castiel as they made their journey in a leisurely pace. 

"I don't like how you traded yourself away," Dean said in the midst of a long stretch of companionable silence. "A marriage is a sacred thing in the eyes of nature, and the gods if you believe in them. It's not a bargaining chip." 

"You are a romantic at heart Dean. And for you, it is my wish, that when you step up to your marriage altar that your true love awaits you with an answering heart. I never dreamed such wild dreams for myself. The family I was born into does not know marriage as anything other than a form of political contract. And personally, I had little desire for lovers," Castiel shared confidentially. "A rumour had begun that I am too courteous at banquets where there was bawdy entertainment. Roman citizens love men of appetite, whereas I value solitude. A war general without any desire to conquer in the bedroom is mocked in all the public bathhouses. The queen did me a favour saying yes to my proposal." 

"You are more than conquering enough with me," Dean looked at Castiel askance. 

"You are an exception," Castiel said. "I don't know why." 

Dean placed his hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Hey, you know you are as nature made you and I am glad you find me more desirable than others."

"More than all others," Castiel muttered in a low voice, though he was careful that Dean did not hear him. 

They made it to their destination in the late evening, riding all the way to a large block of housing in the centre of town. Castiel entrusted the horses to a private stable and allowed Dean a few moments to whisper promises of his return to Impala. Castiel had never heard such sweet talk uttered by Dean outside of a bedroom. The horse licked Dean's hand and trotted away with her head held up high and her tail swinging. 

The townhouse was immense in proportion and had its own private courtyard and gateway. A young woman with elaborately braided blond hair and wearing hunter's leathers was waiting for them. She wore the jewels and hairstyle of a wealthy Roman lady but her clothing was far too practical even if the pitch black leather and lightweight armour looked expensive. She looked like she was ready for a gladiatorial tounament rather than a visit from a Senator. Her feline like face, huge sapphire eyes and painted lips, shifted from nonchalance into a genuine smile. She made a happy sound and ran towards Castiel, throwing herself into his arms and burying her face into his chest.

“My darling Claire, my dearest treasure,” Castiel held her and patted her hair. “It is so good to see you.” 

Dean watched them kiss each other on the cheeks, an intimacy he did not observe Castiel perform with anyone but Jack and Gabriel. 

“This is the lady of my house, Dean. The woman I am most proud of in my life.” 

Dean took a step forward and gazed at Claire, she narrowed her large catlike eyes at him. “Well, Gabriel wasn’t lying when he said he was stunning. He’s your new quill bearer? Does he ink your well too?” 

Castiel blushed fiercely, his tone aghast. “Claire, you know Dean helps with the cooking ... and other miscellaneous chores.” 

“Very miscellaneous,” Dean stared back at the woman, girl, now that he had a closer look at her. She had uncannily blue eyes, though on closer inspection they were a different shade of blue to Castiel’s. More vivid ocean than his stormy sapphire. Dean blushed at his own imaginative descriptions.

“This is my step-daughter Claire, I raised her along with my ex-wife Amelia,” Castiel explained. 

Dean ducked his head and took a step back. “Of course,” he muttered. “The Brigand Queen’s unborn baby from Singer’s story. And you did mention her mother before.” 

“How is your lovely mother?” Castiel asked as Claire looped her arm through his. “How fares our fair Queen?” 

“She is well, I have been travelling back and forth to her territory as you know. She send her well wishes and she has procured more of those writings and early maps you are after.” 

Castiel smiled beatifically as Claire gestured to a dining table loaded with refreshments. She had reserved the seat at the head of the table for Castiel, in front of his place setting was a small book shaped velvet bundle. 

“Your mother spoils me,” Castiel opened the gift with delight, already carefully leafing through the pages. “Please Dean, eat while I look through these, be at ease, this our home and you are a part of our family.” 

Claire rolled her eyes at Dean and brought over a leather stool for him. “Come on, you heard him, you look like you need a few decent feasts. Are you sure you are a good cook? They tend to look more, well less, less stringy than you.” 

“I’m a hunter too and a fighter back in Briton,” Dean boasted. She asked him a few questions and they became engrossed in a chat about the migratory behaviour of deer herds in alpine climates. Claire loaded up Dean’s plate with rich pastries and refreshing fruits. Much to Castiel’s delight they seemed to get along very well despite the initial frostiness from Dean. They chatted endlessly about weapons and the evening descended into Claire inviting Dean into her private treasure gallery of exotic weapons.

“This one has a weighted blade so the decapitation is swifter,” Claire stroked a broadsword with bloodlust in her eyes while Dean shuddered in delight. 

“And on that note, I think it is time for me to retire to my room, it has been a lovely day, but you can show Dean your homemade traps tomorrow.” 

Claire pouted and so did Dean. Castiel looked from one to the other and laughed. “Does anyone respect my authority here? It is bed time.” 

Claire scoffed while Dean waved an accusatory finger. “Who stayed up all night reading Histories till the cockrel’s crow? You are her father but you’re no senior to me.” 

There was a wide grin on Claire’s face as she folded her arms. “Oh this is fun.” 

“Dean... I ....” Castiel let out a sigh. “Would you please go to bed?” 

“I will leave you two to persuade each other of Morpheus’ delights,” Claire turned her back, flicking her loosened braids over her shoulder. “Urgh.” 

It was only when Claire was gone and he was half way up to his rooms that Castiel realised Claire had not assigned a place to sleep for Dean. 

Dean cheered when he saw the huge expansive bed in Castiel’s room, piled high with silk pillows and furs and goose down blankets. Like everything else in the lavish townhouse the bedroom was ornate and ostentatiously decorated by some hired consultant to keep up to date with the fashions of Rome. Though Castiel lived a simple life in the countryside, his townhouse was overseen by his brother Gabriel and outfitted to impress pedantic political rivals. He thought his villa in the village was far more comfortable but Dean was already snuggled up against the pillows and snoring by the time Castiel had carefully packed away his new old books. 

Castiel looked at Dean’s face glowing in the candlelight, his mouth wide open and drooling a little, snuggling his face into the silken pillow and caressing his thumb on a lace flower in his sleep. Castiel blew out the flame and crawled in beside Dean.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean was still asleep when the early market goers flooded the streets with sounds. Castiel took an indulgent minute to watch Dean's face in beautiful repose. He looked younger and softer with his hand curled up before his lips, breathing deep and even as his eyelids twitched in some enjoyable dream. Castiel could not help but stare a little longer in the perfect morning light, attempting to memorise the glow of Dean's complexion for some later painting. Dean pressed his lips together and sighed, a rosy blush rising over his cheeks as he muttered something. Castiel inhaled sharply when he realised what Dean had mumbled. Quickly and as quietly as he could, he slipped out of the bed, almost running for the indoor plumbing. It was one thing to allow Dean to fall asleep in his bed, quite another to be aroused by him while he slept. Castiel sat in the tepid bathtub, in the privacy of the ensuite and wondered for the first time in a long time about whether he should take care of his natural arousal. Dean had called his name. The door was closed and Dean was certainly not being infringed upon if Castiel merely thought of him? What was it about Dean that led Castiel to fumble with himself so. He was a man in his forties and Dean was certainly only a few years younger, why then was Castiel experiencing these urges with such urgency? The answer seemed plain, it was Aphrodite's curse, or blessing perhaps. Castiel had to concede, sitting alone in the bath, flushed and panting, that perhaps his emotional attachment to Dean had opened a vein of passion in him that was now gushing like a newly tapped aquifer. And quickly enough Castiel flooded the bathtub with discharge. Draining the milky water guiltily, Castiel stealthily swept away the evidence of his infatuation. 

Wrapped in an Egyptian cotton drying cloth, Castiel sought out the dressing room and spent some time trying to tame his own hair so that he looked less debauched than he felt. He found his Senator's robes with their scarlet stripes to demarcate his status hung out neatly for him. He and Dean were almost of the same size, so he found another robe, a pristine white one Gabriel had gifted him for his name day and set it aside for Dean to try on. It would have to do until he could order Dean a custom fitted robe from the seamstresses. Moments later, Claire caught him leaving the kitchens with a tray loaded with breakfast offerings. 

"How does he stay so lean when you feed him so much?" Claire teased as she looked at the sweet cakes and honeyed tea laid out for Dean. "There are newly wed grooms who are less attentive than you." 

"Claire, please do not tease me so much," Castiel said, trying to look stern. "It is one thing to laugh at me and another to give Dean the wrong impression." 

Claire raised her eyebrow challengingly in a gesture Castiel was sure she had picked up from him. 

"You forgot to tell him where to sleep last night." Castiel said patiently. 

"I may forget again tonight." 

Castiel glared at her but she poked her tongue out at him. 

"I will write to your mother and tell her of your meddling," Castiel was desperately clutching at straws. 

"Oh, please do, we gossip three times a week in our letters about the Winchesters and you and Dean in particular. In truth, we are both pleased for you, I have not known of you being this happy since the day my mother left. No do not look sorry, I know very well how fond a friendship you have built with her over the years, but the day she returned for her own lands after the death of her sire, you seemed unburdened. Perhaps you always thought you owed her more than you were able to offer but you have always been a kind husband and a doting father. Jack and I can both attest to that. You gave us protection with liberty. So please Castiel, do not feel guilty for being happy." 

"I ..." Castiel bit his lips. "I should take these up to Dean." 

"A word of warning though," Claire checked that they were still alone. "A maid of mine, Meg, exchanges messages with Ruby who is one of your new guests ..." 

"You have a spy in my household?" Castiel asked bemused. 

"How else would my mother and I get all the gossip?" Claire smirked. "I am a Roman by upbringing if not by birth, it is my duty as an influential lady of Rome to know what is going on everywhere. Meg says that she knows Ruby of old, back in their homeland, when they met here again in the course of their employment they danced for a time together at dinner parties as Metatron's troupe of entertainers. She won't tell me much, but she says Ruby is not the sort of person who is just drifting through the citadel." 

"Your handmaiden is a former dancer?" 

"Oh please, have you seen her fight, Meg is a slip of a thing but she could wrestle gladiators to the ground, of course I hired her," Claire rolled her eyes. "Got a problem with me enticing her away from dinner parties with a well paid salary and safety from harassment? Maybe you are not the only one taking people out of those hell pits." 

Castiel could find no fault in Claire's reasoning and it made him proud that she was so like him. Impulsive, unpredictable and not quite fitting into the mould. So he placed his hand on her shoulder and smiled at her, the tray wobbling precariously as they hugged. 

* * * 

Watching Dean watch Rome with wide eyes was an entirely unexpected pleasure. When Dean woke to the sight of the food, he devoured everything put in front of him. He was equally delighted with the offer of the Roman robe, even if it did look a little strange paired with his hunting boots. Dean's feet were too large for Castiel's sandals. As soon as they left the leafy courtyard, the noise of the streets had Dean startled. His eyes darted everywhere, from vendors to tourists to monuments to soldiers. Every sound, every sight and every scent excited Dean and Castiel let him wander through the crowds, following at a sedate pace. They followed the press of bodies to the markets, where Dean asked for free samples of everything. The vendors took one look at his fine clothing and strange shoes and mistook him for a rich visitor. So of course there were plenty of complementary tasters but everything was also suddenly five times the price. Castiel haggled with the food sellers cheerfully and made sure Dean's mouth was never idle all the way through the food market. 

The streets were a little quieter where the cobblers, seamstresses and apothecaries were situated. Castiel made sure that Dean was measured for new robes and fitted for more appropriate footwear. He sent the garments and leather riding boots home to the townhouse via a store errand runner while Dean happily walked around in his new comfortable open shoes. There was only a little more shopping to be done for the morning since the Senate did not meet until noon. Castiel spent a decent portion of that time acquiring paint and ink and parchment for his art. Dean became very enthusiastic when he saw the ingredients stocked by the apothecaries, excitedly telling Castiel about the healing properties of the ingredients he could identify and then tirelessly quizzing the provenders regarding the ones he could not recognise. Another delivery was promptly ordered to be carefully packed and sent to the townhouse. Castiel jested that at this rate they would have to go home sharing a ride on Impala so that the plough horse could pull a cart loaded with their purchases. An idea which Dean, apparently, did not take as a joke. 

"I'm afraid we've put off the inevitable for long enough," Castiel sighed when all the stalls began to close down for lunch. "It is time to go and speak to my learned colleagues." 

Castiel took Dean onto the wider gridded roads and headed towards the heart of the forum. The politician's square was smaller than Dean had expected but it was shaded with trees and drinking fountains abounded. To one side, speakers orated noisily on topical matters. To the other, well dressed men whispered in tight huddles. The noise died down when Castiel walked into the square, there was a shifting in unison towards him. Some faces smiling and others frowning. Before the gathered crowd could speak to Castiel, on man in particular made his way to intercede. He must have been important, because the others deferred naturally, falling aside to allow him the opportunity to talk to Castiel first. 

"Welcome back cousin to fair Roma and thank you for accepting my step-mother's invitation to dine with us tonight." 

"Michael," Castiel nodded politely and had no more words to offer. 

Michael seemed a little put off by the laconic response, though not surprised. "And who is this dashing Roman beside you?" 

"He is a Briton." 

Michael raised both his eyebrows, murky green eyes drinking Dean in. "Oh, the slave you took form Metatron. I see why now. He is very classical looking, a mature Apollo blessed with a masculine yet beautiful face. Can you understand us?"

Dean looked at Michael then at Castiel then back at Michael. With a mischievous grin he shook his head. 

"Pity, but I imagine a mouth like that could have other uses," Michael smiled at Castiel in a manner that was completely off putting. 

"He is my cook and a guest while I am in Rome." 

"Well, guests cannot enter the Senate, nor can cooks. Only personal servants." 

Castiel frowned but Dean quickly produced a bundle of parchment and a writing quill. 

"A scribe who cannot speak Latin?" 

"I can speak well enough," Dean beamed at Michael. "You asked if I can understand you and in truth I do not. For you say you are a Senator but your ambitions span across the empire. Are you a politician or a general, a tyrant or a servant of the people?" 

"A servant of the people, of course, but a princely one," Michael's smile did not reach his eyes. "As for war and command, it is Senators like Lucifer who glory in that sort of business. Does my answer satisfy you, nameless companion of Castiel?"

Dean grinned crookedly but said nothing, letting Castiel take over. Castiel has always introduced him proudly to members of his own family, so if he intentionally withheld Dean's name, Dean would trust him to have done so for good reason. Perhaps speaking further to Michael would not be a wise strategy. 

"Where is he now?" Castiel asked. 

"Skirmishing near The Nile last I heard, still writing to the Senate every week asking for more funds, fresh troops and supplies." 

"And you would supply him, to keep him far from Rome and out of your way," Castiel commented while Michael gestured him towards the Senate steps. 

"Not everyone finds enough entertainment in our grapes, books and the odd servant." 

Castiel said nothing but he did walk between Michael and Dean. 

The political forum was an impressive building and Dean was a little awed as they climbed the many steps. He sat behind Castiel with the other servants and watched with rapt attention. 

The debate was presided over by Gabriel as Patrician. It seemed pretty standard at first, discussions on the military efforts of Lucifer, reports on tributes from political allies, airing of rumours of dissent at the corners of the empire that never went away - the unrest in Briton, the troublesome Brigands, taxation. On and on the talking went until the sun was beginning to set. Then Michael stood up and gave an impromptu speech that changed the tone of the entire assembly. 

"What gentle diplomacy could be used to turn our enemies into our friends?" Michael asked the Senators to consider. "What ties will bind? We have had successful examples of fine Romans wedding themselves to the leaders of territories of unrest. Castiel who is here today did that very thing to settle a warrior queen some twenty-two years ago. Why do we pay and indulge in war when a wedding would bring longer lasting peace? Think upon this question and give your answer." 

"We could send Castiel to find the rebel leader Mary of Campbell and maybe she'll want to marry him too," said one Senator jokingly, Dean shot him daggers with his eyes. 

"Spare Castiel another wedding, he has done enough in foreign bedchambers for the good of Rome," Michael's comment incited a chorus of laughter. Castiel shot Dean a pacifying look when he stirred with irritation. 

"Look closer to home. To our own midst." Michael beamed. 

Gabriel seemed to think of something, his face closing up into a tight grin. "How interesting Michael, I'm sure everyone will ponder hard on your question as we drink your wine and dine on your meat tonight. Now if all you fine political speakers have had enough of talking for the day, let me retire the Senate so that everyone can go home and prepare themselves for the feast Michael will be hosting."

Michael nodded graciously and Castiel was one of the first Senators to leave. His brows knotted in a frown. 

"I need a bath, a proper one, with hot steam. Rome always makes me feel foul after a day with those serpents," Castiel muttered as Dean caught up. "I cannot believe the gull of the man." 

"Something is the matter?" Dean asked, hearing the anger in Castiel's voice. "Is it Michael, I really do not like him." 

"We will not speak of it here, for to say the notion is to give it wings," Castiel said through gritted teeth. "Come, Dean." 

"Come Dean, follow me Dean, yes Cas, of course Cas," Dean complained with a smile. "I think you are getting too used to the idea of commanding me, Castiel. Do not look alarmed, I think I like it very much." 

Castiel blushed and looked away, leading Dean out of the square and zig-zagging their way through streets that he was clearly familiar with. After rushing around a few corners and he brought Dean to the largest and most prestigious bathhouse in Rome. 

"The Senators come here in the morning, exercise and bathe and take an early lunch before their debates," Castiel explained, bringing Dean into an almost deserted but grand building. "They've all gone home to get changed, but I plan to wear what we have on us, so would you care to join me to wash off the muck of politics?" 

Dean nodded enthusiastically, following Castiel down a long corridor. The first room was a bathroom for the amenity of guests. Next was a storage room with many shelves where Dean paid an employee a coin to stow away their quill and paper. The third room was a large stone benched room, with pegs on the walls. 

"This is where we undress," Castiel said with a little colour in his cheeks. "You can do so over here and I'll go over there." 

Politely Castiel turned his back to Dean and after a moment's hesitation, sucked in a breath and began to undo his belt. He took off his sash and then shrugged out of his robes, peeling off the cotton trousers he wore beneath with a quiet little cough. There was no steam in this room, but Castiel felt the heat in the air nonetheless. Bending down to remove his sandals, he startled and turned around when he heard a choking sound from Dean. Dean was still completely clothed, his eyes were wide and his irises round as he stared at Castiel. He was looking unashamedly up and down Castiel's body with intense greed, as if Castiel was some exotic dish and Dean a starving fellow from the deserts. Castiel turned around again, biting his own lips. The longer he stayed like this the more Dean would be staring at his ass like it was some eighth wonder of the world, but if he is turned around again ... 

Castiel knew objectively that Dean had seen him naked before, had in fact examined his wound and its surrounds closely. But the manner in which Dean appraised his body with those doe like eyes still quickened Castiel's breath. He could not imagine what was so appealing about his battle-worn body for as beautiful a man as Dean. For surely like Narcissus Dean could look at his own reflection and see a peerless masterpiece. What would Dean want with sallow skin and silver scars, wiry limbs and an armour burdened back. Castiel's body was strong and practical and he knew he still had strength and speed in him, but he was not beautiful. Or so he thought, until Dean sighed and said "I could look at you in every light and want to keep looking again and again." 

Castiel was shocked to see the honesty in Dean's face, his surrendering soft smile as he forced himself to look away and began to undress. Castiel cast his eyes down to study the interesting hunting scenes on the tiles because Dean had not invited him to look and they were not in their art studio. In fact, he had never asked Dean to pose for him in anything but heavy layers of armour. He had never wanted Dean to feel any impropriety from his employer. And if Castiel liked to spend hours sketching Dean's naked neck, hands, wrists, forearms, calves, ankles and feet that was his own artistic indulgence. Dean kicked off his shoes, untied his belt and sash and slithered out of his pants and robes quickly enough but he kept his under tunic on, a thin shift of cotton which somehow only enhanced the shapeliness of his ass with its high hemline. Castiel reddened at the sight of Dean, cleared his throat and led the way to the steam room. 

The hot room Castiel chose was a small private chamber with a scented fire burning sweet woods and cedar pine. The round river rocks were heated in a grate and when the spring water poured over them via a mechanism in the walls the whole room filled up with white haze. Castiel sat down on the heated timber bench, while Dean flopped in the heat on his back, laying down with his head near Castiel's leg. Dean stared up at Castiel's face for a while, exhaled and closed his eyes. The steam curled around his eyelashes and beaded on the tip. Castiel folded his hands demurely over his lap. 

"I'm not used to fog being this warm," Dean said lazily, his legs splaying as he tugged his tunic a little higher. The fabric turning translucent in the damp atmosphere. 

"The heat draws out the toxins via the perspiration," Castiel muttered quietly. "Relax Dean." 

"I am relaxing," Dean slurred. "It's so hot and damp here, I can smell your scent, it's like I've got my face buried between your legs again." 

Castiel shot up to his feet. "I think we should cool off." 

Dean pouted as Castiel darted out of the room and headed for the cold plunge pool. 

"No way," Dean said when Castiel resurfaced, shivering and chattering his teeth. 

"You need to shock the body with the cold." 

"I'll catch my death doing that," Dean shook his head vehemently. 

"Dean, it is essential!" Castiel insisted and grabbed hold of Dean's ankle. "I'll make it quick, you'll overheat if you do not." 

Dean wobbled and then with a wicked grin, he jumped in on top of Castiel. Gasping when the coldness of the water hit him, his skin roughening with goosebumps and his nipples pebbling beneath his tunic. 

"You need to take that off now," Castiel tugged on the fabric. 

"Now? When my balls are trying to crawl into my stomach, now you want to undress me?" 

"You will catch a cold walking around in a soaked tunic," Castiel pulled with his stiff fingers. 

"Alright, whatever will convince you to let me out of this ice pool," Dean grumbled. 

As soon as Dean was free of the garment, Castiel pulled him to the edge of the pool and pulled himself up out of the water. He helped Dean climb back up, Dean was trembling. 

"This way," Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders in an attempt to warm him as they rushed into the grand pool room. 

The tepid water felt hot as they slipped in together. The green pool was expansive and filled the entire marbled hall. The huge bath could have easily fitted a hundred people but they had the place all to themselves for now. Dean began to loosen his limbs around Castiel's waist as he enjoyed the warmth of the bath. He looked around and slowly pulled away, then kicked his legs in a testing fashion. The water came up to their chests but it was deep enough to float and swim in as well. Castiel enjoyed a few laps, he even showed Dean a few different swimming strokes. Dean practiced the new moves by the edge of the pool. By the time Castiel had swum back he was smiling and free floating on his back. 

"This is heavenly," Dean said, looping his arms around Castiel's neck to steady himself as they waded a little deeper. 

Something velvety floated past Castiel's thigh, the touch soft like a kiss beneath the water. 

"Thank you Castiel for showing me Rome, for showing me the lovely side of your home and treating me with so much kindness," Dean pulled Castiel's face closer. "I can see how much you love this city and through you, I have fallen in love with her too." 

"I know we are a warring people," Castiel said quietly. "Our appetites are ceaseless and we take all we can without recompense..." 

"No Castiel, you take but you also give. I see the ingenuity and the sophistication even despite the debauchery." Dean looked into Castiel's eyes. "What you are embarrassed of, the excess and the hedonism, are acceptable to me, I see nothing wasted in indulging in what feels good. So long as you share those delights equally." 

"The city has seduced you."

"Not the city," Dean tilted his head and pressed his mouth to Castiel's, slipping his tongue over Castiel's palate, feeding his flesh into the dip of his cheek slyly. 

By the time the kiss ended everything had changed. Dean was pressed into the edge of the pool with his back against the marble steps and Castiel over the top of him. Dean was shuddering and laying with his face pressed onto the damp ledge, his whole body shivering as he moaned into Castiel's ear. 

"Debauch me," Dean gave a hysterical little laugh and writhed against Castiel. 

Castiel stumbled on the step and suddenly he was looking at the ceiling with its mosaic stars and Dean was panting hotly and weighing him down. He could feel Dean's stiff member roll over the gap between his legs, his own sliding wetly along Dean's abdomen. It was all too hot and wet and fast and Castiel sunk his teeth into the inky tattoo on Dean's chest just as Dean lifted him half out of the water with a hard thrust between his cheeks. The blunt intrusion made Castiel exhale and Dean was grabbing his head and thrusting his hips and trying to thread his arm over Castiel's back and desperate fingers were holding the tip of Dean's pulsing head against the crevice of Castiel's ass and he could not work out whose hand or whose cock or which was sky and which ceiling and what water and what was up or down. Everything was wheeling sensation and chaos except for the certain thought that he needed more friction and less water. So he clambered backwards up the steps, or Dean shoved him and pushed him with each thrust, or it was a collaborative effort, but soon enough Dean was triumphantly rubbing his spend into the globes of Castiel's ass cheeks and Castiel was very glad they had not soiled the bath with their essence. Glad enough to watch Dean lick up the pool Castiel had managed to leave on his own chest and chin. 

They showered in sheepish companionable silence in the last room. A bath employee waiting for them in the dressing room with their clothes and property prevented the need to comment to one another. Though there was a smug, accomplished smile on Dean's face that persisted. 

And if they held hands in the darkness of the dusky streets as they walked, a little dazed, towards the grandest mansion on the capital's hill no one was the wiser.


	7. Chapter 7

Michael's mansion was located in the most exclusive part of the city, the large grounds surrounding the main house flaunted Michael's exceptional wealth and status. The main compound comprised of four residential wings and a huge atrium with its own artificial lake. Everything was as exotic and expensive as they possibly could be. Silk streamers in gold and scarlet decorated the columns and doorways. Gold and silver utensils glinted in the candlelight. The torches were scented with exotic spices to whet the appetite. As it was an unseasonably warm Autumn, the dinner party was set up outdoors, in the lush garden full of exotic plants. Large wooden lounges laden with velvet pillows are set in amidst night-blooming jasmine and blazing open braziers where rare meats sizzled and sugar dipped fruits caramelised. The servants were dressed in costume, Romanised versions of a Brigand's chainmail or a Briton's kilt, slitted and cut and bound tightly to the body to offer glimpses of flesh. They all carried ornate weapons and were scantily dressed, Castiel thought some of the garments were perhaps insulting to the cultures they emulated. To Castiel's surprise, Dean looked delighted by the sights and scents and sounds, even looking down at his own fine gown with a small frown as if he lamented its elegant but simple style. Indeed, Michael's helpers were dressed more splendidly than any wealthy gentleman or lady in the metropolis, it was a candid display of his fortune and influence. A particularly well dressed and handsome faced young man greeted Castiel and Dean at the front gates. 

"My master is pleased by your attendance Castiel and friend," he said, blinking in an attempt to not looked awed by Castiel's presence and failing. He was perhaps Claire and Jack's age, Castiel decided. "My name is Samandriel, if it pleases you my lord, may I lead you inside and serve your needs for the evening?" 

"That's my job," Dean stepped forward. "I see to his needs, he's sorted for company." 

"I would be glad to see to both your comforts," Samandriel said diplomatically. "If it pleases ..."

"I would be pleased if you would treat Dean as a guest equal to me," Castiel said gently. "And stop asking what pleases us." 

"If it p ... as you wish my.." 

"Castiel, just call me that." 

"But only I get to call him Cas," Dean said with a sly grin, waving away the silver bowl of lemon scented water for hand washing. "We have just attended the bath. Cas is very clean." 

Castiel hoped the darkness of the night hid the sudden bloom of blush over his cheeks. He bumped into Dean intentionally as they were led to a table in the hopes that Dean might cease the teasing. Dean nudged him back with his hips, the brief contact did nothing to calm him, Castiel lowered his head and tried not to appear too flustered. Samandriel seated them close to a huge persian rug laid out over a marbled sunken garden and promised that theirs was the best position in the garden to view the entertainment to come. He fetched a platter full of hot grilled meat, juicy seafood and ripe fruits. Carefully, Samandriel took out a bejewelled tool and began to shuck a fresh oyster. Perceptively, he offered the shellful of juicy flesh to Dean first. 

"Wait," Castiel grabbed Samandriel's hand, the man gasped loudly and then turned his eyes to the floor, his long hazel lashes fluttering. "There's a pearl in there, could have chipped Dean's tooth." 

Castiel took the oyster from Samandriel, dug the pearl out with his fingers, it was large and pink, he offered it to Dean who took it with delight and stowed it away. Then Dean opened his mouth and Castiel smiled and tipped the shellfish atop his tongue. Dean chewed savouringly and swallowed. Samandriel sighed and began to open another. Samandriel proved attentive and unobstrusive, readily filling up Castiel and Dean's wine cups, though Dean certainly emptied his out faster. It was not usual to see Dean drink so much, but Castiel was glad to see him enjoying himself. The alcohol seemed to do nothing more than further enliven Dean's spirit. He babbled his delighted observations into Castiel's ear and often reached out to take bites of food then moan and offer whatever morsels he found tasty to Castiel. Samandriel was observant enough to ease off any attempt to serve Castiel directly, instead he offered one exotic dish after another to Dean and Dean chose what was passed on to Castiel. Castiel ate far more sparingly than Dean. 

"Do you not like the food?" Dean asked. "I enjoy eating a rich man's food when I know he's paying for it." 

"I would much rather eat bread or drink soup that you make," Castiel confessed. "I find banquet fare tiresome and overcomplicated. Nothing like home cooking." 

Dean smiled brightly at Castiel's words. "I like how you use the word 'home' to describe my cooking. I have grown fond of your house, your kitchen and your bed ..." 

The last part he whispered into Castiel's ear, his face glowing in the torch light. Castiel was lost in the shine of Dean's eyes and the glimmer of his ready smile. 

"Excuse me but Michael will soon come and check on us," Samandriel said in a rush. "Please may I take off my shirt?" 

Dean shot Samandriel a glance. 

"I am usually Michael's personal servant," Samandriel said, staring at the fire in discomfort. "He asked me to host Castiel well tonight. I ... I can see he is not interested in me but I would be punished if I did not try." 

Castiel rolled his eyes. "Dean, Samandriel has to make a show of seducing me." 

Dean was up on his feet immediately. "No, no way." 

"Dean, do not be concerned, when Michael arrives I will simply pay Samandriel some standard compliments," Castiel said placatingly. "Let him undress a little, I will not touch him, I will not even look at him." 

There was unimpressed snort from Dean but he relented. Samandriel ran his hands through his own hair, mussing up the soft brown locks. Then he peeled off his silk top, leaving his well defined chest exposed. A few tables over, a rowdy guest called out a lewd compliment to Samandriel. 

"Oh really," Dean pulled one arm out of the toga he wore, tugging the materials down so that it pooled around his narrow waist. Dean's broad shoulders and sturdy back was traced in golden lines by the fire, his abdomen aesthetically muscled despite a very slight bulge from all the food. Castiel stared at the vivid bruising over Dean's collar bone and one still slightly swollen nipple that he had bitten too enthusiastically in the bath at Dean's urging. 

"Dean, you cannot, you are the very embodiment of sin, the guests will shame themselves over you," Castiel tried to convince Dean to cover up. "I am finding it difficult to resist the urge to ravish you."

"Good," Dean said. "Let them all see what is yours." 

"You are not a possession," Castiel argued. 

"Neither is this man," Dean pointed to Samandriel. "But Michael treats him so, bids him ply you with his flesh, opens him to guests like a vacant well-appointed room." 

Samandriel listened intently, not appearing to feel insulted. 

"This man who has the frame of a warrior and the hands of a hunter, you can see the scars on his legs and his quiet strength, he is a man in his own right. So much can also be said for the women here, chained up in gold and diamonds. Great Rome which presses all who comes to her into service, except for her princes, her legionnaires." 

Castiel stared at Dean and was certain he was not speaking from inebriation. There was a calm purpose to Dean's words and Castiel noticed all the servants in their vicinity paying quiet attention. Samandriel looked up at Dean slowly, his eyes alight with understanding, his mouth parting to speak ... 

"How do you like Samandriel?" Came a confident voice from the centre of the tables. 

They turned to see Michael bearing down on them, a goblet in his hand, an arrogant grin on his face. Samandriel quailed, bowing and retreating. 

"He is one of my most proud cultivations. Skilled in combat, reads fives languages and pleasing to the eyes," Michael said proudly. "He has royal Brigand blood too, a little chief without a clan. Since we are family, now more than ever, I would like to offer Samandriel to you Castiel as a gift." 

Samandriel traded glances with Dean, there was guilty hope in his eyes. 

"I'm not sure he is good enough for Castiel's house," Dean interjected. 

That brought all eyes to him, Michael looked at him askance. "Who are you again?" 

"I am Castiel's servant," Dean said quickly. "His personal servant."

Michael raised an eyebrow. 

"I can beat Samandriel in any skill, any three skills, if he is my match, it may please my lord Castiel to have him at his disposal. If he is my equal." 

"Sounds like a challenge to me," Michael smiled faintly. "Well, he is a very good wrestler, let's see you beat him at that." 

Castiel tried to diffuse the situation but Dean was already pacing onto the Persian rug, stripping off his toga and toeing off his sandals. He looked magnificent standing in his scant short trousers. 

"Wrestling is conducted in full nudity in Rome," Michael said. 

Dean shook his head, gesturing to Samandriel to join him. Castiel watched the match with his heart in his throat. Samandriel was skilled indeed and strong but Dean was faster and more experienced. Samandriel was pinned to the ground, his face red and perspiring as Dean twisted his arm behind his back, weighing him down with his leg. Michael gave a satisfied groan and allowed them to part. 

"Samandriel's second best skill is shooting arrows," Michael sipped on his wine. 

Castiel was glad to hear it, he knew just how good a shot Dean was. An elaborate and heavy bow and arrows were quickly procured and Samandriel took a deep breath and shot a persimmon out of a distant tree. Dean took the weapon and aimed it at the tree but then he spun and shot the goblet out of Michael's hand, drenching his fine robe and making all the guests gasp in shock. 

"Rebel," Michael said gravely. 

Dean smiled, opening his hand where the arrowhead had been snapped off prior to him shooting it at Michael. "You were safe enough." 

Michael looked furious but there were many eyes watching and tongues wagging. 

"Very well, the last thing that Samandriel is exceptionally good at is being fucked by his master," Michael said. "Go lie down and I'll show you." 

Castiel shot to his feet. "That's enough Michael." 

"Do not make me a coward or a liar," Dean said flatly. "I promised Michael three demonstrations and he has named the third. However, I would request that the 'fucking' be done in private. A screen but everyone can listen if they wish."

"Provincial coyness," Michael said but he nodded to the onlookers to go to work. 

Soon silk screens were brought out and set up around two couches. The torches were dimmed but the moon was still bright enough to see by. The audience were murmuring and giggling, some sounds of lusty anticipation could be heard in the darker corners of the feast. Michael disappeared behind one screen with Samandriel, while Castiel followed Dean, however reluctantly, behind another. 

"You are not drunk and nor are you struck with lunacy," Castiel whispered into Dean's ear. "Why..." 

"To see the cocky bastard falter," Dean hissed back. "He rubs me up the wrong way and there is no chance I'll give him the satisfaction. So come on, lay on top of me." 

Castiel batted away Dean's quick hands. "No, Dean, I'll not take you like a dog in heat in front of all these people, for he gratification of others." 

"What if I enjoy it," Dean said hotly. "Might be my thing, for all those people to watch me bend and break apart for you. And only you." 

Castiel hesitated and that momentary lapse of attention was enough for Dean to wrestle him into the couch, Castiel let out a surprised gasp and Dean answered with a very loud moan. 

"Castiel, oh my gods, Castiel!" Dean cried out lustily. "Command me to you."

Castiel lay atop of Dean, shaking with surprised laughter. 

"Fuck me commander," Dean shouted. "Invade me with your dagger!" 

"Sword," Castiel reiterated. 

"Big hard sword," Dean cried out. "Oh Castiel, you are the most satisfactory, nay, fantastical of lovers. Far better than anything Michael can offer. Oh I am quickly mounting the apex of pleasure! Castiel!" 

Castiel could barely move, he could hardly get oxygen into his lungs from biting his own knuckles trying not to burst into laughter. 

From the couch where Michael and Samandriel were there was only smothered whimpers and groans of pain. 

"I cannot contain my excitement," Dean screamed. "Oh heavenly penis, oh divine angel, Castiel! I have embarrassed myself with early and effusive release at all the pleasure you have given expertly to my ass." 

Castiel could hardly stand as they exited the screen to cheers and mirthful laughter from their audience. They turned to see Samandriel exit from behind the other screen, a huge smile on his face also. 

Samandriel gave Dean a nod and walked away, a slight limp in his movements as he quickly strode through the gardens. 

There was a loud whimper from Michael, the couch rocked then the whole screen came down. Michael was bound by his arms with his toga and his mouth was stuffed full of his own trousers. His face looked swollen and he was bent over his own groan in pain. When he finally spat out the gag in his mouth, he shouted for Samandriel to be captured. 

Dean and Castiel sat and ate the grapes while Michael hunted for his traitorous servant. Samandriel had runaway and the guests were much entertained by Michael's indignant rage. There were some dancers and then a whole flaming cake in the shape of the Mouth of Hades, spewing forth red jam. Dean and Castiel ate and drank while Michael left his own party in a flustered rage. 

Castiel decided Dean was right, the food tasted better when it was free and given at the expense of an abhorred host.


	8. Chapter 8

The feast went on till the late hours. As the wine flowed and the robes loosened the guests became more disinhibited and the talk moved on to politics. Many of the senior politicians and wealthy merchants invited by Michael to the feast came up to speak to Castiel, paying him compliments on his latest book or reminiscing of the days when Commander Castiel was in charge of the legions. In the absence of the host, all the attention turned to Castiel and his mysterious companion. Castiel politely received the compliments but would not be drawn on any discussions of him resuming any sort of military command. 

"Lucifer is our war general now, voted on and endorsed by the assembly," Castiel reminded his admirers. 

The rich and powerful citizens groaned at the reminder. Variously they argued that Lucifer was unfit for the role. He was too ambitious, took the legions too far afield, their supply lines were stretched and in the misty isles many dangers lie in wait. The crowd whispered fearfully of Mary of Campbell and the increasing communications between Rome's foes. Rumours abounded that groups of rebels were infiltrating the city itself, learning of Rome's political intrigues, ready to take advantage of any discord. It is fortunate that Castiel's former wife was still upholding their alliance, they said, but eventually her power would pass to her daughter Claire and how might the alliance continue then? 

"Claire was raised in part in the city of Rome and she has as much love for our engineering, our art, our history and our language as she has for the woods and fields and mountains of her mother's realm," Castiel reassured the worried citizens. "No one is more a friend to Rome than her."

"But she will wed one day and then her husband will have control of her lands," came the interjection. 

"Marry? Claire?" Castiel said in disbelief. "But she is too young! Only yesterday she was a babe in my arms." 

The guests laughed at Castiel's horrified expression. 

"Fear not Castiel. Your daughter has too much courage and too wild a heart to be bound by marriage," said another guest with awe in her voice. "She and her handmaidens went down to the colosseum the other day to challenge the gladiators for a friendly match. I doubt she would lose her heart to any man anytime soon. Besides, with you as her doting father, she would have to find a man the peer of you and I am not sure such a man exists."

Castiel blushed at her compliments, murmuring. "If she wants someone she can do what she will with her heart but no one will impose their will over my daughter."  

"But who says she needs to be in love," a man objected. "She is of age and wealthy. So long as Castiel, as her guardian, accepts a suitor she must be married whether she wishes or not."

"Then she is safe," Castiel said with finality, closing the discussion. "I would never command her to marry and lose her freedom in exchange. No marriage should be imposed as an obligation, no matter how important the state thinks it is. Anyone who dares speak of it again in my presence will answer to me and my sword."

The guests murmured excitedly. Some even egging each other on in drunken haste, vying for the chance to see Castiel taking up arms again. Though Castiel quickly turned to provide more food and wine to Dean, taking over Samandriel's job with tender attentiveness. 

"The great Castiel, servant to his servant," a guest said with mock derision. 

"Then let that be my claim to fame henceforth," Castiel said with dignity. "To be a servant to the beloved is better than serving the opinions of the public." 

"Beloved?" Dean leaned in close, whispering fragrant drunken air into Castiel's ear. "Your lack of regard for power and status makes you seem very ... what is the word, Bacchus has meddled with my senses ... hot. Shall we give them another show without the screen?"

Castiel laughed at Dean's joke, at least he hoped he was joking. 

Dean had been listening to the exchanges. He took the provisions Castiel offered with a coy smile and stuffed his mouth full of cake, washing it down with wine. His cheeks flushed pink and his eyes dancing with mischief. Castiel being a light drinker found himself contending with an increasingly amorous Dean. 

"If you climb into my lap one more time, you will be chastised," Castiel warned, hissing low into Dean's ear.

"With an open hand and on the rear please," Dean replied with a sweet smile. 

Castiel felt the tingling in his palm and decided perhaps they had both had enough to drink. It was time to take leave of the feast. The guests tried to convince them to stay but Castiel bade everyone good night and walked out of the dining area into the open grounds. Dean followed closely by his side, the fresh evening breeze seeming to wake him. Castiel was impressed by how well Dean held his liquor, his eyes were a little brighter but he walked well enough and didn't seem nearly as intoxicated as he had at the feast. 

"Were you pretending to be drunk?" Castiel asked with amusement. 

"People are much more liberal with their words when they assume you won't remember them," Dean shrugged. "The wine here is very fine but nothing compared in strength to what my mother brews." 

Castiel raised his eyebrows, this was the first time Dean had mentioned his family back in Briton. As Michael estate was expansive, they still had some distance to walk. The grounds were beautifully landscaped, the peacocks nested in the collections of imported trees and the moonlight lit up the white gardenia hedges and twinkled on the quietly bubbling manmade stream. 

"It is cold where I am from and in the deep of winter we sit behind stone walls, with a roaring fire, drink hot drinks and play strategy games to stave off the chill. The adults are given home brew and even the young are brought up having a little to fortify themselves against the weather. I have fond memories of being rugged up in furs with my brother, running out on the moors, playing in the snow until we are starving from hunger. Running up to Donna, our caretaker, who would have sweet apple muffins for us, tucked in her ample bosom to keep warm. I learnt cookery from her, an unmanly skill my cousins used to tease, but they sure benefited from my ability to make filling hot meals out of meagre provisions when we went off to fight in the field."

So Dean came from a wealthy family, Castiel thought, stone walls. The peasants in Briton lived in insulating straw and mud cottages. Dean had grown up in a castle, with a caretaker. And his mother brewed hard liquor. He would never press Dean on his origins, knowing that every piece of information Dean shared with a Roman could cast him in further danger. Castiel knew in his soul that he would never endanger Dean, no matter what Dean told him, but he could understand Dean's prudence. The anecdote was already a gift and one Castiel would treasure. 

"Do you like what you have experienced of Rome?" Castiel asked tentatively, steering the subject away from memories that would make Dean feel a foreigner. 

"I've barely seen anything apart from the markets and the bathhouse!" Dean exclaimed, nudging Castiel's chest with his finger playfully. "You have kept me away from the aqueducts, the museum and the sewage pipes. All great marvels of engineering that I have a keen interest in." 

"You want to see the sewage?" Castiel asked with an appalled expression. "Where the shit goes?" 

Dean giggled at Castiel's incredulous expression. "Can't just take me to bathhouses, Cas. When my friends told me of the miracle of Rome, I certainly did not expect to find it in a man, miraculous as you are. I want to see all that the Romans are capable of, not just test the stamina of one single Roman. Though you are very impressive. You have certainly 'stood up' to rigirous testing." 

Castiel's cheeks reddened. They walked from Michael's house through the night markets which were just packing up, passed Diana's fountain and ambled all the way home. Chatting amiably on Castiel's part and flirting outrageously on Dean's, bumping shoulders. Castiel resolved to take Dean to see all the sights he had mentioned first thing in the morning. 

=&=&=&=

It was the household guard that came to wake them up. 

"Our lady, she is taking her sword and she means to duel with him!" 

Cried the elderly gentleman. Castiel had employed him many years ago and left him here to guard Claire's townhouse. He had been a servant in Lucifer's house who had remained loyal to Jack's mother Kelley even when she parted ways with Lucifer. He did a good job as a guard in the peaceful city of Rome. His armour was polished to resplendent standards, willing to give tourists directions and never gossiped about Claire's wayward hours. He was a mild and courteous man who had never fought anyone in his life and always kind to the beggars. He was, in other words, completely at a loss as to what to do. 

"He is in a rage now!" The guard urged Castiel to rise, not batting an eyelash when Dean tumbled out of the bed half naked and yawning. "Come on sire, our lady is defenceless." 

"Hardly," Castiel dressed calmly and bade the guard make some refreshing tea and bring it out when it was ready on the finest serving ware he could find in the house.  

Then Castiel hastened to the front door, Dean padding barefoot behind him in his sleep pants and nothing more. 

To both their dismay it was Michael at the entrance, at a standoff with Claire. To Castiel's relief Claire was armed with nothing more than her horsewhip, though he knew she was feisty with that too and had a reputation for using it on slave owners who showed unkindness in front of her. The ground was strewn with boxes of gifts, silk and chiffon falling out onto the ground, blowing into the horse muck left behind by Claire's chariot pullers. Castiel's eyes, however, were drawn to the horses standing aside. There was Michael's fancy black Arabian and behind it an old grey mare with a familiar face. The rider waiting on the mare was none other than Cain, Lucifer's right hand, the seasoned warrior who really ran the army and had the loyalty of the legions. Castiel was shocked to see Cain here, all the news were of Lucifer's ongoing expansion deep into the Briton territory, why would Cain be here when he is needed in the war? Though Michael had the political power and arrogant ambition to infringe upon Castiel, Cain was a more ominous presence. 

"Mind your daughter's manners, she has declined my offer of marriage," Michael said loudly. "No better suitor than I could be found in all of Rome. We are equals in status and power and wealthy, though she be heathen and I the prince of Rome." 

Castiel could feel rage rising slow and cold up his spine, the slowness of deliberation as oft visited upon him in war by the gods gave him steely resolve. 

"I've not heard of uncles marrying their nieces," Castiel said. "For you are her relation by adoption if not by blood." 

"Customary absurdity, too trifle to worry about in these times," Michael said, pointing a finger at Claire. "There stands the key to the neutral lands, I'll take her for a wife if you let me, I'll take her as hostage if you will not." 

"Now, now, Michael" Cain dismounted from his horse, walking up slowly, there was a visible limp in his gait which made Castiel curious. "I thought you more subtle and diplomatic. I will not have my reputation sullied by standing with a man who will force a young girl into marriage. Woo her if you will, ply her with words and heroic deeds, not threats. I doubt the lass will concede to them anyway." 

"I am insulted beyond measure," Claire said haughtily. "I would rather take the sly old man for a consort than you Michael. And believe me anyone I do take as my lover will be a consort, for I am a Queen by birth and by rights. You are in every way imaginable my inferior and ancient to boot. What could you do for me in the bed chamber or on the battle field you coddled old fool." 

Michael was white with fury. "I am your superior, you impetuous girl." 

"Race me then, loop around the colosseum and back, if you win I'll reconsider your offer." 

"I have no time for flirtation and horse races," Michael hissed. "Cain is here on important affairs and you are but a part of the plan to secure our victory. Do not flatter yourself that I actually desire your corrupt flesh." 

Claire's answer was a quick sidestep to get past Michael. She punched Cain in the bicep and called out 'Lend me your horse handsome old fellow'. 

Michael's eyes narrowed then he was running for his speedy Arabian, mounting quickly and seizing the reins. 

"I'll even give you a head start," Claire whipped the stunning horse once and threw the whip at Michael's head. 

Michael caught it in one swift movement and kept using the whip to urge on his mount. Claire patted the old grey mare. 

"I have heard of you First Blade and long admired your war stories," Claire whispered into the mare's ear. "Now show them how it is done." 

The mare took off at an easy gallop, not quite getting ahead of Michael but not far behind either. She seemed to be strolling at a leisurely pace, keeping up with the Arabian no matter how hard Michael whipped his sides. Not even breaking a sweat. The horses ran out of sight and Cain sighed. 

"Your daughter is fearsome and clever," he said to Castiel. "It is a shame she must submit to the will of the Senate if not to the will of Michael. He has the votes to make her marriage a state affair."

"Gabriel will never allow such a vote to pass," Castiel said with certainty. "He is more well liked and has more tricks than Michael." 

"Michael is devious enough," Cain shook his head. "And look here they come." 

From a distance the cobbled streets thundered as the two horses appeared, the grey mare easily galloping to first place, the Arabian was sweating and neighing as Michael lashed it to the finish line. 

Claire dismounted triumphantly and winked at Cain as she came past. "She's a nice ride, old guy." 

Castiel narrowed his eyes as Michael climbed off his horse. 

"She cheated," he yelled. "She stabbed me." 

He showed the gathered onlookers a tiny gash on his forearm. 

Claire snorted. "If I cut you Michael, it would be deeper than that." 

"I have the knife you did it with," Michael called out, holding up a small ornate weapon. 

Claire's eyes rounded. "Hey, I lost that in a card game two weeks ago. Oh really, that's your proof?" 

"Aggression against a Roman senator, I will have you arrested," Michael said. 

"Then arrest me and we can go to trial," Claire laughed. "There is justice in Rome, one of the few inventions of this great civilisation that will be time honoured." 

"It is your word against mine," Michael said gloatingly. 

"And my word as well," Castiel said. "Against yours. Cain?" 

Cain looked heavenward. "Michael, let us go and discuss state affairs."

Michael followed Cain reluctantly, glancing back at Claire grudgingly. She pulled a face and returned inside the house. Dean poked his head out to call out to Castiel. 

"Do you need my assistance my lord?" Dean said in his lilting accent. 

Cain whipped his head around and stared at Dean. Dean's eyes widened. Then Cain strode forward and unleashed a battle worn sword from his side, charging straight for Dean. 

Dean ran inside the house and Claire tried to intervene to no avail. Dean grasped an ornamental sword from Claire's collection and Cain and he were embroiled in a rapid fight. To Castiel's great shock, Dean was holding his own against Cain. He was younger and faster and possibly stronger too, though Cain had the reputation of being ruthless in battle. Every parry and swipe looked well calculated and Castiel had to force himself not to grab a weapon and join in. He had noticed that though Cain was fighting hard, he withdrew an inch or two, every time he was near to hitting the mark. It was a test rather than a fight and soon Cain blocked one last thrust and laid down his sword. 

Dean stood panting, his torso flushed and his face scowling fiercely. 

"You should ask your servant where he learnt to fight like that," Cain picked up his weapon and strode out the door. "Be careful Castiel, for you are surrounded by enemies." 

Castiel nodded at Cain and stepped forward to gently lower Dean's sword arm. Dean blinked, his eyes watering as he watched Cain leave. "You gonna ask me Cas?" 

Castiel kissed Dean softly on his open mouth. 

"That's answer enough," he said. "Now go put on some clothes before you catch a chill." 

What did Castiel have to fear from Dean, he thought pragmatically, when the man already had him heart and soul. He could not be more captive and enthral, and knowing that made him feel helplessly freed.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean seemed mystified as to the calm atmosphere in the townhouse even as the old guard, Donatello, swept up the gifts and handed them over to the poor. Claire conversed with Castiel in his study for a while and then announced she was going to go and watch a gladiator show. She needed something to ease the boiling of her blood she said and took her handmaiden Meg with her. There were a couple of messages from Gabriel which Dean eagerly listened on, his face falling when he realised they were catalogues for shops where the best luxuries could be purchased, delightful scents and intimate apparels in which Castiel showed keen interest. When Dean asked him what they were going to do about Michael and Cain, Castiel seemed confused. 

“What is there to do, he is a politician so he will talk and talk. The most urgent thing now is to make the most of our visit and show you the sights of Rome you have so longed after.” Castiel manner was relaxed and he even took his sketching satchel with him, suggesting Dean might want some keepsakes for his time at the monuments. Dean was not convinced but had no choice but follow Castiel’s lead. They ate a delicious lunch of fresh seafood and exotic fruits at the house then wandered out into the heat of the late Autumn. It was again unseasonably hot and Castiel suggested to Dean that he was favoured by Apollo for his beauty and so the sun always followed wherever he went in Rome. He pulled Dean into the shade in the walk in the cooler shadows of the trees and took him directly to the aqueduct. The structure was huge and took Dean’s breath away, it hung like a bridge in the sky high above the city and Castiel bade him sit in front of it while he made careful sketches of the structure. The building dominated the image and Dean was but a small muscled figure and if anything he seemed to have been used for scale. The sites were deserted in the after lunch stupor that enveloped the city and so they had plenty of time to themselves to marvel. Dean looked at the wonder with such intellectual thirst that Castiel rattled off a long list of mathematical equations, apparently he had trained from the ground up during his time in the army, his status notwithstanding, as a surveyor. It was prudent for all soldiers to have a skill, said Castiel, or else men who only know how to fight will keep fighting no matter what. 

The next site was the museum and here Castiel put away his drawing pad and simply led Dean through the gallery. It was the paintings and sculptures, fine as they were, that drew Dean. Rather the models of the planets, the habitats of animals, the instruments of alchemy and the implements for putting together machinery that the interested Dean. Castiel took out his sketch pad again and drew Dean standing in awe before all that knowledge, drawing in painstaking detail down to the writing on the gallery wall explaining each invention. 

The last place they visited was of course the sewage, with the sun bleeding red and the streets repopulating with evening crowds, Castiel bribed a guard to let them through an unassuming door into a cavernous hall. It was as grand as the Hellenic temples of lore, Dean’s whisper echoing in the vast space. There was no stench or rubbish, just thick silt on the ground. Apparently this tunnel was only used occasionally to direct overflow from excess rain and flushed out with left over water from the baths. Though the light was dimming underground, Castiel drew with frantic speed. Dean stared at him with wide eyes. 

“Why do you look at me so?” Castiel muttered, not lifting his eyes from his work. 

“Your face in concentration is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Dean said quietly. 

Before Castiel could reply, sudden footsteps made him promptly shove Dean against the wall. Dean’s back slammed into the brickwork with an soft ‘oomph’ and Castiel was kissing him hard over the mouth. His torso and hips pushing into Dean, there was something hard and unrelenting there. Square and stiff with sharp edges. The sketchbook was enmeshed between their pelvises and the tunnel guard cleared his throat and informed the amorous couple that his shift was almost over that they must leave now. 

Castiel’s robes were tented as they walked out of the tunnel, the city guard grumbling about rich patrons with predilections for strange places to play sex games. Dean’s robes were tented too but once they were out of sight, it was plain that while Dean’s state was organic, Castiel’s was resolved as soon as he stuck his hand down his pants and fished out the sketch book. He purchased a giant basket of red roses and slipped the volume inside, presenting them to Dean as a gift. Dean carried the blooms with blossoming cheeks all the way home. 

When they arrived back into the house, Castiel bade him put the flowers into their bedroom and with quiet solemnity wrapped the drawings in oil cloths and sealed it with wax, hading the small envelope of precious Roman secrets to Dean. 

“Why are you doing this?” Dean whispered quietly and looked down at the parcel in his hand, his eyes brimming. “This could you into so much trouble.” 

“You were going to memorise it, were you not?” Castiel said quietly into Dean’s ear. “Engineering concerns proportion and numbers, precision is key. I would teach you all I can but I know you will leave soon after winter. And sooner still if Michael gets his way. I will not hear of a handsome Celt crush prematurely by his own structures in the faraway isles.”

“If anyone finds out, this is treason Cas,” Dean’s voice trembled. “I am willing to risk my head but I will not risk yours.”

“Then guard it well, as I trust you will,” Castiel folded Dean’s hands over the volume and pushed into his firm chest. “Knowledge is power and people like Michael hoard it like gold, but you are clever and I suspect highborn with resources at your disposal. Sam is a gifted linguist and I know he has been spending with Jack at farm learning of all the agricultural methods. Ideas and knowledge should be for all people. Who knows what miraculous things the two of you will be able to do with it.” 

“You are not afraid we will use what we learn to fight Rome?” 

“You ran past the war machines in the museum without a second glance, your face alight at the sight of navigational models,” Castiel chided. “All you sought is to improve the lives of your people. And is all I want to do too, with my books and paintings and learning.” 

“Some of the paintings are for your own erotic preoccupations,” Dean smiled crookedly. “Don’t know how me fighting a ginormous serpent could be seen in any other light.”

Castiel scratched behind his ear. “That was a study of shade and light.” 

“Of my legs and ass more like,” Dean placed the package back into the roses. “I thought it lacked finesse, you should definitely check again, with all your senses, your eyes, your hands, your mouth.” 

Dean led Castiel towards the bed, tugging on his hand. Castiel stared as Dean lifted his robes and kicked off his pants, naked legs and ass spread invitingly over the bed. The calves bowing outwards sweetly, the cheeks flexing as Castiel touched the small of Dean’s back reverently. 

“Why don’t you measure how many hands the length of my legs are, how many of your fingers will satisfy and how deep your tongue can sink.” 

Castiel licked his lips, nodding with a slightly cross eyed look as he loomed over Dean. Dean’s skin turned out to be salty sweet, the sunshine seeming to have sunk into his flesh. So tender and full did his cheeks seem that Castiel found himself impetuously biting down on one round globe, eliciting an excited yelp from Dean. Castiel pulled back, quite surprised at himself, and licked the moon shaped indentations of his teeth to sooth Dean. That seemed to have the opposite effect and Dean was quickly burrowing his hips into the mattress, tangling his robes around his neck in an attempt to free himself of his clothes.

“Damned be the Gods, Cas, use your tongue!” Dean demanded, writhing as sweat broke suddenly over his back. “Not over, inside!” 

Castiel darted his tongue out along the narrow seam and Dean cursed loudly. “You lap like a kitten when I need a lion.”

“You are very demanding,” Castiel’s complaint was muffled by the backward thrust Dean impatiently directed at his face. 

“Just stick out your tongue,” Dean goaded. “It can’t be that hard.” 

The smack on Dean’s rump was resoundingly loud. Dean collapsed forward, shivering from head to toe, his voice suddenly honey sweet and loose. “Ohh...” 

Castiel rubbed his hand over the pink imprint and licked a little deeper. Dean whimpered in quiet bliss. Castiel pinched the other globe, eliciting another shuddering moan. He pointed his tongue a little more and Dean gave a little sob. 

“The hardest lesson to learn in love is patience,” Castiel said, sucking his pinky into his mouth. 

Dean’s eyelashes fluttered closed and a droplet of a tear ran down his cheek. “Please, Cas, please.” 

“I will have mastery of you in nothing but this,” Castiel sighed happily. “In all ways you are my equal and honoured but right now you must beg.” 

Dean’s mouth dropped open, his bottom lip swollen where he had bitten it too hard. 

“Master,” Dean stuttered, choking on the word. 

“May you please ...” 

“May I please ...” Dean moaned woefully as Castiel wriggled his pinky in. “Fuck!” 

He got another smack for that and Castiel could see the reddened head of Dean’s cock rolled under his belly stretch and spurt. 

“A little pressure, in the right place, the right time,” Castiel twisted his wrist. “And the whole dam would break.” 

Dean cried pitifully as he came, his prostate only lightly brushed and his rear freshly red. 

“Imagine what I could do with something bigger,” Castiel withdrew his pinky and whispered into Dean’s ear and Dean curled up his legs as he shuddered through a second wave of his orgasm. 

Dean opened his mouth when Castiel climbed over his face, slobbering Castiel’s member with saliva and tears. Castiel took his time and fucked at a steady rhythm, Dean was almost lulled to sleep when Castiel filled his mouth. Dean swallowed with a grateful moan, his eyes closed, and licked corners of his mouth to savour any drips. Then he grabbed Castiel with both arms, pushed and shoved him against the pillows till they were comfortably snuggled with Dean’s head on Castiel’s chest and his leg thrown over Castiel’s hip. Falling quickly asleep with Castiel in his possessive grip. 

=&=&=&=

When Claire woke them, of course Dean fell out of bed and landed ass first. She rolled her eyes and stepped aside, revealing an astounded looking Samandriel. The young runaway stared at Dean slowly climbing to his feet and Castiel sitting up with his chest bare above the line of the sheets. His eyes darted between Dean and Castiel then glanced helplessly at Claire. 

“He says he’s being hunted by Michael’s men, wants our help to get him out of Rome,” Claire said in exasperation. “Do you two know this man?” 

Castiel nodded, still blinking sleep out of his eyes. 

“Then you want to help hide him?” Claire asked. 

“Depends,” Dean gave Samandriel a scrutinising look then turned to Castiel and asked sweetly. “Do you wish me to hide him under our bed?” 

Samandriel blushed hotly and tore his eyes away from Castiel’s nipples, studying his own blistered feet instead. 

Castiel yawned. “No, Dean, what a ridiculous thought, he is young enough to be Claire and Jack’s peer, Sam’s too. There are better hiding places.” 

“Correct answer Castiel,” Dean grinned, wrapping himself in a sheet modestly and looking around for his pants. “Okay, so those lingerie catalogues, where are they?” 

Claire raised her eyebrows. “I’ve had to stay out of the house all evening, soon as I heard the ruckus from your room, have you not had enough Dean?”

‘It’s a part of the ruse,” Dean smirked, eyes measuring over Samandriel. “We will need to go shopping.” 

Claire frowned. “But tomorrow is your last day in Rome and you promised we could play with all my weapons. Now you want to go buy women’s undergarments?” 

“And dresses,” Dean insisted. 

“I am not opposed,” Castiel chimed in. 

Claire stomped her foot and pulled on Samandriel’s tattered robes. “Look at all the fun you’ve ruined, you ruiner. Come with me and bathe and eat. Seems you’ve been taken in like a kitten from the rain.” 

Playfully, Castiel made a faint meow noise as soon as Claire had dragged Samandriel away. He was gratified to feel the sudden flush of heat over Dean’s body as he crawled back into bed.


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel was not surprised when a small group of soldiers knocked on the door the morning of their departure. Michael was there of course, proclaiming that he was looking for his runaway servant Samandriel. When he had the gull to ask after Claire, Castiel only had patience enough to answer him with a glare. The household guard brought out the tea on the finest wares and the men huddled around him sipping on the brew with quiet embarrassment while Michael personally looked through the house when they refused to disrespect Castiel's word with an open search. Castiel knew most of the men by name, since quite a few had served with him during the wars. They half heartedly look around, a few even leaning against the walls and rolling their eyes when Michael's back was turned. When Donatello slowly clattered away with the tea set, no one paid him any attention. Castiel stood impatiently as he waited for the old man to fetch the horses and the caravan.  

"I'm sorry to have disappointed you, Michael," Castiel said mildly as the Senator came out of the house perspiring. 

"He's got to be in there," Michael said excitedly when Donatello finally, at a glacial pace, drove the horses forward. 

"Wait," Castiel called out but Michael was inside the caravan already, dragging and pulling a gaudily dressed individual out of the caravan. 

"This is no woman!" Michael exclaimed, pulling on the lace veil and chiffon dress. 

"I know I'm no woman," Dean protested. "Watch the fabric, its expensive. If you ruin this dress, my master would be most upset with you, he loves this colour on me." 

Michael recognised Dean and frowned. "You're Castiel's paramour." 

"Oh like you don't dress your 'paramours' how you please?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "If Castiel wants me in a billowing chiffon dress, silk chest coverings and lace undergarments I live only to recreate his wildest desires." 

Michael licked his lips, speechless. 

"Now can we go?" Dean called out to Castiel and flounced back into the caravan brattishly. 

Castiel shrugged and climbed into the caravan. Michael stood dumbfounded with the the sniggering soldiers and watched them slowly cantor away. 

A mile out of Rome, the horses broke into a gallop. Dean climbed out of the caravan to check on Samandriel. He was sweating under Donatello's hat in all his layers of fine fabric, insignias, streamers and ornamental armour. The false beard was already falling half off and he sighed gratefully when Dean ripped the whole thing from his face. In a copse of trees they were met by familiar allies. Claire was dressed for travel and her handmaiden Meg was wearing a tattered toga, her hair cut short. Meg quickly helped Samandriel out of his burdensome disguise. She threw a small bundle of clothes at him. They were tight leather leggings, a black silk dress cinched in at the waist, a dark ball of fur turned out to be a cap with locks of Meg's hair sewn into the brim. Within moments, from a distance, Samandriel could be mistaken for Meg and vice versa. Meg laughed at Samandriel's flushed face as she padded his chest with silk bundles.  

"I made sure the city guards saw Meg and I leave on our hunting trip," Claire grinned. 

"Do you have enough provisions to make the journey?" Castiel said a little worried. Though he knew Claire travelled back and forth to her mother's territory on a frequent basis, this was going to be a one way trip. And she never before been absent from Rome without official notification of the senate. If she were caught, being accompanied by Samandriel was not even the first reason she would be punished severely. 

"It has been warm and the paths are still open, even further north," Claire said confidently. "The wolves will be kept at bay during the day in all this heat. And I cannot expect a Brigand chief, young and naive as he is, to be completely helpless in the wilderness. We will be fine, I'll send word discretely when we arrive safely."

"I am experienced in traversing the lands and I promise to protect your daughter!" Samandriel said in a rush, his eyes full of devotion and gratefulness. 

"But who will protect you from her?" Castiel asked with a smile. Samandriel blinked in confusion. 

Claire laughed, untying the horses from the caravan. Meg had already set off on foot for Rome. They divided up the horses, Castiel insisting that Dean rode Impala while he took the plough mare. Claire and Samandriel took off towards the north while Dean and Castiel headed for the mountains. As they rode, Dean patted his abdomen where the drawings were sewn into the sash tied around his waist. He looked once or twice at the abandoned caravan with some regret but perked up when a thought dawned on him. 

"Hey Cas, least I'm still dressed in this pretty garment and I get to keep the lace underthings," Dean said provocatively. 

The thought of those things kept Castiel flustered the rest of the ride back to his estate. 

=&=&=&=

There were many angry letters arriving on a near daily basis, in increasingly more majestic looking envelopes. All of them demanding the return of Claire and calling upon Castiel to answer to the senate. Castiel ignored the increasingly grand threats. The papers all fuelled the fire nicely as the days grew shorter and the evenings colder. Interspersed with Michael's demands, many of which he issued via the mouthpiece of the senate, were more personal messages from Gabriel. In which he carefully passed on news of Michael's moves in between long flourished passages mock berating Castiel for his stubborn refusal to cooperate with Rome. Sometimes there were messengers arriving on foot, dressed as vagabonds but with clever eyes and plain faces. These were Gabriel's agents and they delivered the uncensored information Castiel needed to keep his family safe. Gabriel was playing games with Michael in the senate, Castiel should stay put for now. Once or twice, Meg visited, she was always in a hurry and she carried the welcome news that Claire was now safely with her mother and Samandriel had been reunited with his clan, thus forging a new tie between two foreign powers. No one would press Amelia to hand over Claire, not when the alliance was so fragile. Upon the first snow fall, Gabriel arrived with the dreary weather, in just as foul a mood. He dismounted from his horse and dropped into Castiel's armchair by the fire, his mouth downturned as everyone rushed to greet him. 

"Michael got his wish, Castiel," he said flippantly even as he stared moodily at the merry flames. "You're officially summoned as a senator now. I've been sent to fetch you. So what now brother, shall we all flee the Empire together? Frankly I need the holiday." 

Castiel laughed, which only made Gabriel look angrier. "I am surprised you held them off as long as you did. And no we are not fleeing the Empire. Of course I will accede to the senate's request so that your duty to the senate is fulfilled, after all you are the patrician, it would be rude of you to runaway from your own seat of power." 

"Stupid fools, all of them, Michael is playing them like puppets when by rights and custom they are my puppets," Gabriel said sourly. 

"There there," Castiel placated half heartedly. 

Dean was standing at the doorway with a determined look on his face. "Back to Rome, so soon? We'd only just escap... left. Well, I'm going with you of course." 

Castiel took a step to the left, Dean mirrored him. Castiel tried the other direction and was again rebuffed. Castiel schooled his face and gave Dean a long lingering kiss and while Dean gasped with surprise, ducked under his arm and ran down the hallway. 

"You tricked me! Come back! You cannot ride out in all that snow!" 

Gabriel was watching them with narrowed eyes. "Calm yourself Dean, Cassie knows what he's doing." 

Castiel was back after a short moment, offering a long purple ribbon of fabric to Gabriel. "One Roman senator, delivered." 

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Most people just write a letter when they resign from the senate. You've always been one for drama." 

Castiel had torn the scarlet strip from his formal robes which signified his status as a senator. 

"Will you at least stay for the evening, Dean has made dinner," Castiel offered. 

Gabriel hesitated. 

"Roast chicken, vegetable soup, stewed grains and fried potatoes," Jack rattled off the menu. 

Gabriel made tempted sounds. 

"And of course there will be dessert," Sam added. "Custard tarts and apple pies. And after dinner we'll all play games and drink wine." 

"Sold!" Gabriel agreed. "Family night! Let's enjoy it before Michael has us all cast to the four corners of the world, desperate to escape his tedious plotting." 

They ate together in the dining room, everyone pitching in to help bring in dishes from the kitchen and keep the wine flowing, Castiel included. It was a friendly and comfortable atmosphere, the food was simple but delicious and Gabriel moaned as he bit into a well seasoned drumstick. Half way through the meal, Rowena played a jaunty tune on her flute while Ruby performed a pretty dance, dragging Gadreel in at the tail end of the tune much to his blushing surprise. Then Dean sang a Celtic song and Castiel will never not be surprised by how sweet Dean's voice was. It was a manly voice with a strong range, raspy and lilting in turns. 

"And what is Sam's trick?" Gabriel asked. 

Sam bowed his head and thought for a while, then he stood up and bade Gabriel stand too. 

"Do not be afraid," Sam said, leaning Gabriel against the wall. 

"Me?" Gabriel made an incredulous face, puffing up his chest. "Afraid of you?" 

"And do not move!" Sam pressed him back into the spot he wanted. 

Gabriel was still pulling faces at Castiel when the first dagger whooshed past his ear. Gabriel's eyes snapped back to stare at Sam even as the second and third were released. Shyly, Sam came forward again to retrieve his blades. 

"That's uh the thing I can do," Sam murmured. "Well I had two ideas, but the other one was a bit rude." 

"Throwing weapons at my head was the less rude option?" Gabriel challenged, trying not to look breathless with exhilaration after the knives. "Really?" 

Sam flattened his mouth, then with a swift turn kicked his foot towards Gabriel's temple, stopping just before impact and sweeping his leg right over Gabriel's head. The round kick was so high it missed Gabriel entirely and made him feel incredibly short compared to Sam. 

Gabriel closed his eyes in defeat. "I'm sorry I ever asked." 

Castiel burst out with a laugh and everyone else seemed to think Sam round kicking over Gabriel’s head was funny too. Gabriel drank half a cup of wine in a sulk, grumbling that he thought Sam was the nice scholarly one. 

Everyone rushed into the kitchen to help with the dishes and cleanup, so Dean was not left to deal with the aftermath while everyone else got to play games. And such games they turned out to be. There was one Castiel had brought back from the orient, a strategy game which mimicked the movement of troops, played on a wooden board with a large symmetrical grid and black and white stones. There were complex puzzles that built into elegant shapes. Riddles, jokes and more music. Gabriel basked in it all and wondered if Castiel was not the clever one for turning his back on the decadence of Rome for this life of true comfort. He could hold off the senate for another week and it was time he took some respite from the intrigues and plotting. He could turn in Castiel’s resignation after his stay, because when news of that broke there was going to be rioting in the streets such was Castiel’s reputation and popularity. It was no wonder Michael was eager to put the pressure on, he had counted on either securing power through Claire or at least alienating Castiel out of Rome. Both of them were threats for Michael, too popular and too well liked. Gabriel sat back and let Rowena ply him with more wine, Castiel certainly looked happier than he was before the Winchesters came along. He had always been the self content genius, the hardy warrior, the doting father but he had been lonely in his personal life. He had never been in love. Now it was undoubtedly obvious that Castiel was in love with Dean. Love suited Castiel well. It seemed to make him more determined and self-assured. Michael was stuffed, he didn’t understand who he was playing with, thought Gabriel. Castiel smirked as he placed his final stone on the board the gleaming white surrounding the jet pieces, eating up the whole lot. Dean complained loudly as Castiel made gobbling sounds as his forces ate away all of Dean’s pieces, turning the whole board white. 

The snow fell heavy and loose, blanketing the whole estate into peaceful seclusion, but how long would that last?


	11. Chapter 11

Henceforth Gabriel began to drop in on Castiel’s house on an almost weekly basis, growing increasingly fond of Castiel’s motley family. Dividing his time between Rome and the countryside seemed to make Gabriel more thoughtful, he joined Castiel in long walks and they were often seen walking together discussing the legacy of Rome, arguing intensely. On the occasions of Gabriel’s stay, Sam always hovered around, with ready questions and flagged pages in his books keen to pick Gabriel’s brain on governance and politics. To Castiel’s shock, Gabriel would consider each question and give well thought through answers. He seemed almost a little scared of Sam, patiently elaborating or clarifying his points whenever Sam asked him to. All the information Sam gleaned he wrote down neatly into a small blank book. Occasionally, Sam would say something back that made Gabriel’s eyes round with awe at his intelligence. Once or twice Dean narrowed his eyes at them but Sam would glare back and stare him down till Dean slunk away. 

The long dreary winter passed quickly with fine company and Castiel found a renewed fondness for the long dark evenings snuggled up warmly with Dean in their bed. The year’s harvest had been plentiful, with their cellars full of provisions the whole village was in a bright mood awaiting the winter solstice. Bursting food stalls notwithstanding, Dean invited Castiel on a scavenging trek deep into the mountains. 

“There are medicinal plants that don’t grow in my part of the world but I have heard can be found in warmer regions over winter. They need the volcanic soils and sheltering cliffs to spore and spread,” Dean explained enthusiastically, gesturing to some sketches he had made of lewd looking fungi and gnarled roots. “See this one, Dead Man’s Blood, stops blood flow from an open wound with a little sprinkle of power. And this, Dragon’s Egg, cures an infection and cleanses the liver.” 

“So you need to go somewhere with warm soils? I know just the path for that.” Castiel led Dean on a steep climb and though they were both fit and full of rigour it was still a couple of hours of mountain climbing. 

Dean was fascinated by the changing landscape, talking breathlessly about what the changing soil colours signified for plant nutrients. It was only when Castiel pointed out the view that Dean went quiet. They were at the apex, they could see the village in the distance, the organic shape of the boundary of Castiel’s household, everything they loved miniaturised. The perfectly arranged, now tiny, kitchen garden. Impala running with the white mare in the fields like cavorting toy horses. As it was a clear day, they could see all the way to the distant city of Rome and in the far far horizon a glimmer of the port. 

“It is a beautiful world,” Dean gasped. “How fortunate we are to live in it.” 

“On a fine day like this, I will be able to see your ship sail out of the harbour, if I bring my telescope,” Castiel said. “I can imagine the isles afar where you will go and I will think of you every day.” 

“Cas,” Dean’s throat was suddenly closed, he swallowed past the lump painfully.

Castiel wrapped his arm around Dean’s shoulder to give him comfort. “Have you learned enough and seen enough in your time here?” 

Dean bowed his head, huge tears falling sudden, silent and hot onto the ground. He shook his head and sobbed “Gods damn it, Cas, it’ll never be enough.” 

His face was ruddy when he looked at Castiel, his words mashed together with tears. “There are facts one can learn off by heart. There are skills to be learnt over time. There is art which with practice I could learn to perfect. But I will never, ever, learn enough of love. Just when I think I’ll be satisfied with a taste, I gorge and drown and still cannot be appeased.” 

Castiel stared at Dean with concern. 

“A civilisation is not buildings and monuments, a culture is not tokens of differentiation, it culminates in people. All that Rome aspires to crystallises in you, Cas. And you are mine and you must be mine. And I will not relinquish my claim upon you, so long as you consent to my occupation of your heart, till my last breath!” 

Clumsily, stiff with emotion, Castiel attempted to place a placating kiss somewhere on Dean’s fervent face, but Dean would not relent. 

“So don’t say, say you’ll think of me everyday, when everyday I will blank out my, my heart for you,” Dean’s lips trembled as he struggled to sound out the words. “I know as well as you do that the winter will be over in a matter of weeks, every minute I dread the hour of our parting, but how dare you raise the matter when we are here! In beauty and in nature, in a perfect moment, when there are so few perfect moments left, when every moment with you is intrinsically perfection?” 

Castiel could only blink, muted by Dean’s passionate outburst. 

“You are the most perfect man I have ever met. I will reign over you,” Dean declared, wiping his cheeks with back of his mittens. 

Compliantly Castiel nodded. 

“On your knees!” Dean said through gritted teeth. 

The ground was a little damp and strangely warm around Castiel’s knees as he dropped onto them. Dean grabbed Castiel’s head in both his hands, tilting his eyes up to meet his. 

“I love you,” Dean said in quiet proclamation. 

“I love you,” Castiel replied. 

Dean’s chest lifted and sunk as he took deep breaths through his nose. 

“I love you as I’ve never loved before and nor ever after,” Castiel stated factually. 

“I know, I know,” Dean muttered, casting off his icy mittens and caressing Castiel’s face with his fingers. “Look at you, so pretty in this light, heartbreakingly beautiful.” 

“Dean, you spoke of precious moments ...” Castiel rasped. “This is one. Please.” 

Dean nodded understandingly. He offered his hands for Castiel to kiss. Then leaned a little closer so that Castiel could nuzzle into the seam of his pants, rub his cheek upon the growing bulge, warm his nose in the softness of his scrotums. The air still had a sharp sting when Castiel pulled Dean free from his breeches but Castiel quickly enveloped Dean in his warm wet mouth. 

“Cold, hot, don’t stop,” Dean hissed contradictory commands, fisting Castiel’s hair listlessly. 

Castiel rubbed his tongue back and forth on the underside of Dean’s cock, applying firm pressure as if trying to imprint the shape onto his palate. Dean gasped sharply and tilted his head up to stare bleary eyed at the sky, but then he seemed not to want to miss the sight of Castiel’s head buried in his lap so he looked down again and gently rubbed encouragement into the back of Castiel’s neck. Castiel stretched his jaw wider and shimmied to angle Dean deeply into his throat. Dean squeezed Castiel’s shoulder in a desperate grip and came hot and hard down his throat. Then he knelt down on the ground, pulling Castiel into a long embrace. They held each other for what felt to Castiel like a fraction of eternity. Then Dean began to lay back into the soft soil, Castiel straddling him by the hips. Wordless invitation in Dean’s eyes, the ground trembling as Castiel sunk in, the whole world falling away to nothing. 

On their descent, Dean stumbled upon a thermal stream, one Castiel never expected to see on this side of the mountain at such a high altitude. They took off their clothes and washed up in the warm puddle together. Dean was smiling again and he reminded Castiel of their time in the Roman bath. They lingered in the stream and woods all day and by nightfall when they got home no one asked what took them so long and why their clothes were covered in mud. 

=&=&=&=

They say bad things came in threes. Castiel always thought it a pessimistic superstition. 

Two days before the Winter Solstice, Gabriel had terrible news to share when he arrived. Lucifer was back in Rome, having ordered Cain to hold the legions in readiness for some ill conceived final attack on Mary of Campbell. Gabriel’s spies informed him that Cain had long played go between for Michael and Lucifer but when Cain was in Rome Michael had found him less ambitious and more circumspect than he liked. So Michael had written directly to Lucifer behind Cain’s back and now the two were in accord. When Cain had objected to the plan, citing the long winter the troops were weathering through and the lack of finesse in the attack’s design, Lucifer ordered him to obey on pain of a military trial. Once the troops were locked down, Lucifer recalled Cain to Rome. With Lucifer’s own return to Rome, Michael was far more powerful than ever before. Since Michael had the senate in his control and Lucifer commanded the army, they could collude on whatever they wished, Gabriel’s interference as patrician of Rome was no longer sufficient to veto their ambitions. 

“If Lucifer thinks winter starved legionnaires, however numerous, will be able to survive a foolhardy mass attack in the dark forests then he is a worse general than I thought,” Dean said when he heard Gabriel’s tale. “Those woods swallow up people, there are arrow tunnels in the trees, wild bears waking from hibernation and wolf packs hungry enough to devour each other and bogs that move beneath the earth with the spring floods.” 

“Funny my brother never mentioned which clan you came from, is it one I would know?” Gabriel asked. 

“Thank you for telling us Dean and no Gabriel it is not a clan whose name will be of any significance to you,” Castiel said smoothly. 

“You know they have a quaint tradition in the isles, all the children take the surname of the father, no matter how illustrious their mother’s house,” Gabriel added with a smirk. “What house is Winchester? None of my agents could find it.” 

“Dean’s parents were farmers,” Castiel said quickly, Dean gave him a side glance but nodded. 

“If you wish,” Gabriel said. “I will go to bed. The horse was very unsettled on the way here, now my ass is very sore. By the way, where is Sam?” 

Dean glared at Gabriel. “Why do you ask after my brother so?” 

“Wow, protective much, you know he’s thirty-three right?” Gabriel tutted. “Oh here he comes.” 

Sam came running in with a sealed jar in his hand, panting. “I heard news of a short man bickering with his horse travelling in this direction some hours ago, so I scoured the whole village and found this. Decant it and tell me if it is sufficient enough a bribe.” 

Gabriel pulled the cap off with his teeth in a most impolite manner, the scent of peach liquor filled the room. He took a whiff and smiled. “Alright then, come up to my room and I might just be awake long enough to give you a few more pages of the memoir.” 

“What?” Dean shouted. “No Sam, don’t follow the weird Roman to his bedchamber!” 

Castiel snorted. Pot, kettle. 

“It’s alright Dean, Gabriel’s been giving me materials to collate for his memoire A Roman Prince Of The People. Title is a little obnoxious but his political philosophy is fascinating. I have almost a complete first draft but I still need to keep interviewing him. He’s been giving me his socio-political commentary for weeks.” 

“Better be all he’s giving you!” Dean said begrudgingly. 

If looks could kill, Sam would have become the only child. Sam stomped off after Gabriel and Castiel put a soothing hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

“Tell me they are really writing a book together,” Dean said despairingly. 

“They are really writing a book together,” Castiel repeated dutifully. 

“But he’s so strange,” Dean bemoaned. “And a Roman.” 

“Definitely can’t understand the attraction,” Castiel smirked. 

“You’re the hottest man on earth, Cas, you don’t count,” Dean said bitterly. 

“Love makes exceptions of us all,” Castiel said. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” 

“If I wanted platitudes I’d buy a calendar. Urgh, I thought Ruby ...” 

In that precise moment, Sam poked his head out. “Ruby! Ruby my dear, Gabriel and I require your assistance, would you look over a passage for us?” 

“Yes! But I’m bringing Rowena, ask Gabriel if that’s okay by him,” came the reply across the long corridor. 

“He says the more the merrier!” Sam yelled back. 

“Do we need Gadreel? I can go fetch him from the garden!” Rowena sung out. 

“Gabriel says four is enough! But certainly next time. Let Gadreel keep Jack out of the house!” 

Dean sucked in a deep breath and buried his head in his hands. “I know I’m supposed to be stressed out about Lucifer and war and stuff but frankly right now I’m more worried about the book club that’s happening downstairs!” 

Castiel turned away from Dean and tried to keep his shoulders still as he sniggered. 

=&=&=&=

It was Dean who pushed him awake. The whole house was quiet and asleep, book club was long over, even the horses were quiet in their stables and the hens were silent as usual. 

“The mud! The horse! The moon!” 

Castiel sat up and stared into Dean’s wide eyes. “Are you sleep talking?” 

“No, Cas, I worked it out. Tonight or tomorrow or some day soon!” 

“Dean, calm down, tell me what you worked out?” 

“The mountain you took me to, the one with the view, it was a cold day, it had snowed all night, there was no snow on the apex. The ground was muddy and warm enough to make love in without too much discomfort. In the middle of winter! Above the snow line! There was no snow! On our way down there was the new thermal pool but what is a thermal pool but a fissure in the earth! The animals are uneasy, that horse that Gabriel could barely control was one of the finest in his stable, a tame and well trained galloper. It is not Gabriel she disliked, she simply did not want to come this way. And now the moon is hazy on a clear winter’s night. That is not fog, that is smoke!” 

“Did ... did the earth shake when I penetrated you on the mountain?” 

Dean’s eyes widened. “Yes! I thought it was the effect of your penis!” 

“It was a tremor then, a small localised earthquake.” Castiel sat up. “We need to get up, rouse the house, warn the village.” 

“Cas! Look out the window!” 

They both stared as a flash of bright light winked on the side of the mountain and then the moon disappeared. The roar of the blast sounded in their ears. The chickens started screaming, the dogs barked like mad, the horses were bolting from the stables and at least they didn’t need to wake anyone. Dean and Castiel rushed down the stairs, Castiel securing Jack and Gabriel and Dean searching for Sam, Rowena, Ruby and Gadreel. They all left the house in an efficient but hasty assembly walking into the open fields. Gadreel brought out torches from the garden shed and finally they could see again in the moonless night. The whole sky was covered in black ash clouds, though the breeze was blowing in the direction of Rome rather than the village. The ground continued to tremble and a line of red lava could be seen froming on the side of the mountain. As the ground shook again, more violently, Castiel ordered everyone to run to the village in pairs, check every house for anyone infirm or trapped and meet up in the harvest circle where there were no built structures to tumble down on them. The roof of Castiel’s beautiful house was shedding tiles and though Dean looked at it with regret Castiel nudged him into action. They all sprinted towards the village and searched through the houses, comforting the people running out in fright and directing them to the evacuation meeting point. The ground shook harder and when Castiel’s house collapsed hardly anyone paid it any attention. They’d found a woman in labour and were busy helping her out and carrying her to the field. The farmers herded the livestock into open runs, lest they be trapped in their pens. Dean knelt by the woman, pulling out his medical kit which he had the foresight to grab on the way out. She screamed and gripped Castiel’s hand, her eyes frightened. 

“You know me, I am Castiel, you are Hannah’s Hester,” he wasn’t sure she could understand what he was saying in all her pain but the talking seemed to distract her well enough. “She’s been gone the last few weeks because I had to send her on an important errand. I didn’t realise you were with child or else I never would have sent her.” 

Hannah was Castiel’s housekeeper and though she used to live in the house, since forming a close bond with Hester from the village, she had lived mostly there. Hester and her parents ran the village mill, her husband had left chasing dreams as soon as he realised she was pregnant. 

“My parents went to the market to trade some dried corn for baby things, they were supposed to be back tonight but their horse bolted and they were stranded in town. I didn’t think the baby would come so soon!” 

She spoke quickly then clenched her teeth through another wave of contractions. 

“Everyone is accounted for, down to the pigs,” Ruby reported. 

“You hear that?” Castiel beamed at Hester. “Everyone is safe and though the ground may grind and shake, in the open field and away from the lava flow we will remain safe enough. Some of the bigger taller houses may fall but they can always be rebuilt.”

Jack also ran back with Gadreel. “We made sure all the fires were put out in the stoves of the houses. There are water sources and ready hands if any fires break out.” 

“There you go and all you have to do is push,” Castiel told Hester who was grunting. “You have the best medicine man I know working down there.” 

Hester was beyond speaking by then. She made animalistic sounds and rubbed the bones in Castiel’s hand together. Dean praised her resoundingly with increasing excitement and soon the sound of a baby’s cries rivalled the rumbling of the earth. 

When the sun rose Castiel surveyed the damage. Most of the straw houses remained erected, though there were some cracks here and there. The mud brick builds were worse off and Castiel would want engineers to check them over before anyone went back to living in those. Most of the stone structures were destroyed and his own large houses were gone. The winds had carried the volcanic cloud towards Rome, morning messengers from the city reported of ash falling on the senate forum like black rain. Gabriel issued orders that military provisions be directed to the village, tents for shelter, rations, engineers and builders and so forth. Castiel debriefed everyone quickly. There would be more earthquakes of varying sizes for a few days. They needed to watch the behaviour of the mountain closely and be ready to move if the lava changes course or a second blast site develops. Though he thought it was likely the worst was over. Once the pressure of the inferno was released the danger lowered with each passing day. There would be roll calls every morning and night to keep account of everyone and a roster for eating and washing to keep the sharing of resources fair. Since most villagers were retired veterans and their families, everyone worked swiftly and methodically together. The former legionnaires already banding together to take shifts and allocate buildings for repair. A team was formed to check the ground well for water quality and if need be tap another. Another group was already digging latrines. Dean was impressed by the way everyone collaborated and Castiel was directing it all, while holding Hester’s baby so she could have some rest. After checking out a few scraps and bruises and a twisted ankle, Dean returned with a bowlful of oatmeal for Castiel. Dean beamed as Castiel passed the baby onto him, eating with gusto through the plain meal. It was a tiny pink thing with wrinkled skin and determined to sleep. Dean held the bundle of wool wrapped baby and rocked it gently. 

Castiel watched as Dean cooed and smiled at the baby, his heart warming or perhaps it was all the porridge. Certainly Lucifer’s return was not good news. And yes the earthquake was another calamity though they had averted the worst. But here came the Roman troops, perhaps sent by the senate when the ash cloud was seen over night, since Gabriel’s orders were still on their way to the city. Castiel could tell by the worn armour and weathered faces that those were working soldier not city guards, they would far more helpful and useful in fieldwork. Their solemn faces echoed their leader’s. Silently, Castiel moved over to Dean and held his hand. Dean looked up from the baby into Castiel’s face with puzzlement. When Castiel said nothing, Dean shrugged and gave him a warm kiss on the cheek. 

“You look more worried than you did during the volcano blast,” Dean said. 

“You recognise that horse?” Castiel asked. 

Dean squinted at the approach troops. “Oh, really, again?” 

The unassuming grey mare broke into a gallop, her efficient strides eating up the fields. Cain dismounted and walked up to them. 

“Castiel, former garrison leader, former senator, I bid you good morrow. I hear there was some excitement here in these parts last night,” Cain looked around. The troops flanked out behind him, mounted and silent. “For what it is worth, I commend you on your operations so quickly after a disaster.” 

Castiel nodded politely, the corners of his mouth only twitching up for a fraction of a second. 

“Please hand the baby to Dean,” Cain said. 

Castiel complied, Dean was frowning but Castiel gestured for him to step back. “I’ll be alright.” 

“Castiel, you are under arrest by order of the senate for high treason, you are hereby placed under house arrest, with all your possessions confiscated. A trial before a special court has been ordered where you may plead your case to the three highest ranking Roman state officers not related to you by blood.” 

Cain read out the order and then passed it to Castiel for visual verification. Castiel rubbed his chin and looked at the words. 

“My house is not well disposed at the moment and all my possessions gone with it. By special court and highest ranking officers excluding blood relations, I assume my ‘treason’ trial will be conducted by Michael and Lucifer? Since Gabriel would have been the third if not for the blood thing.” 

Cain nodded. Castiel nodded back. Maybe there was something to be said about bad things happening in threes.


	12. Chapter 12

All the aid Gabriel had directed towards the disaster were turned away by the soldiers Michael and Lucifer had sent. The road to Rome was promptly closed and the whole village cast into isolation. Cain at least treated Castiel with courtesy, he was not bound or imprisoned, merely followed everywhere he went by the watchful eyes of the guards. Following Castiel's movements even more closely was Dean, who apart from any requests for medical aid, refused to leave Castiel's side. There was no call from Rome for Castiel's presence yet, Cain had said, so his order was to keep Castiel detained. Since Castiel's home was uninhabitable, Cain allowed his household to bunk with the guards in a hay barn. Every moment of every day, watchful eyes followed Castiel as if they were fearful he would sprout wings and fly away. 

For seven days the ground trembled from time to time, the shock travelling so far as to collapse Apollo's statue in the sartorial square. Cain was generous with daily reports of the goings on in Rome and he treated all the villagers well enough, even sitting down to eat breakfast with everyone at the camp fire. 

"Michael has proclaimed himself Emperor of Rome," Cain told everyone over a breakfast of boiled wild rice and smoked fish. "And Lucifer not to be outdone the King of the Empire." 

"And here you sit, his right hand, keeping watch over a single man," Castiel said with a smile. 

"Not so single," Cain replied mildly, his eyes sliding over to Dean who was busy deboning a fillet of fish and fussily flaking the juiciest flesh into Castiel's bowl. 

"What are your orders today?" Caastiel asked, digging into the food with enthusiasm. Adversity always whet his appetite. 

"To extract confession from you of collusions with foreign forces, sleeping with the enemy, deeds of lust and corruption if you please. What are your plans Castiel?" 

"Milk the cows, they have finally started to lactate again, all hands are needed to get them back into full production capacity." 

"Could you provide the confession while doing that important work?" Cain asked politely. 

Castiel rolled his eyes. "Very well, Dean can take notes and I will sign the letter." 

"Castiel," Cain placed his hand on Castiel's elbow before he could extract himself to tend to the herd. "Do not make the account too debauched, some of the things you have been writing seem far fetched even for the most lurid imagination." 

"I get over excited trying to get a rise out of Dean," Castiel explained demurely. "I like when the quill slips out of his hands for the profusely sweaty palms he gets." 

Dean blushed hotly and walked away for a few moments to ask a guard for the day's supply of paper and ink. As soon as he was gone, Cain dropped his voice low. 

"You think this is a joke, your head is at stake." 

"Not on a stake yet," Castiel hissed back quietly. "So long as my letters of confession to Rome remain sufficiently entertaining, each letter buys me a few more days of air and in turn safety for my people. I'll write whatever the false rulers want and I'll do it with a flourish. But you wouldn't know anything about complicity to keep your loved one safe?" 

Cain shook his head, his face grim. "No idea. But Castiel your name, all a man has is his name."

"No, that is not true," Castiel looked around the camp, a steely glow in his eyes. "Besmirch my name, tread it into the mud, throw it down the mouth of the volcano. I do not love it any more than the moon in the sky, for all the good it would do me in the absence of what matters most. The people here, Jack, Sam and ... Dean. I love ... all of them."

Castiel meant to gesture to the people but Dean had returned and was smiling sweetly. Castiel placed his hand in his lap. 

"If Michael or Lucifer finds out how attached you are to him," Cain touched his finger to his throat ominously. 

Castiel nodded solemnly. "I know." 

The so called 'trial' dragged on, with Castiel writing volumes of confessions and embellishing his sins against Rome with salacious and imaginative details. He hoped Michael and Lucifer were entertained and enjoyed plastering his written confessions on the senate forum walls. It was worth every accursed word and every profound lie to buy the time needed to execute his own plans. 

=&=&=&=

"Well Apollo's statue fell in the riot, but the gossip of course is that a great big black swan made of stars materialised out of thin air and tipped it over. Such is the anger of the gods, so portentous the omens etctera. It was not a smooth inauguration for Michael." 

The people sitting around the camp fire sniggered, it was dinner time and Dean had scavenged enough wild mushrooms to make a creamy stew with the day's leftover cow's milk. The scent enticed even the guards though they insisted on Dean serving it to Castiel first to check that he hadn't slipped in some poisonous caps. Castiel sipped soup from a wooden spoon, Dean's hand darting out to wipe a droplet of milky broth from Castiel's mouth. There was clamouring for the soup to be shared out quickly after that, though Dean left the pot for Sam to dish out and spent a few quiet moments holding Castiel's hand by the fire. The villagers were always friendly with the couple of course. And the one guard dim enough to make comment found himself kicked into the latrine by anonymous feet in the middle of the night when he went to use the privy by himself. 

"Of course the blizzard came through with more of the black snow over night, just as Lucifer celebrated his name day. Diana's fountain turned mirky," Cain added. "So now of course they say the goddess has been weeping black tears for the loss of her favourite son." 

"Who?" Castiel asked, half curious. 

"You," Cain raised an eyebrow. "Are you aware Dean, that you are consorting with the half-immortal child of Diana and the philosopher Plato?" 

Dean choked a little on the rough bread he was dipping into his soup, hastily he mopped up the mess with his sleeve. "Would explain the Herculean stamina Cas shows in bed ... for a man his age." 

"I am only four years your senior!" Castiel huffed. 

"See even he admits he is senior," Dean winked slyly. "Don't worry Cas I prefer my lovers experienced. Wisened with age. Withered with practice..."

Castiel's eyes narrowed as Cain stifled his laugh into his bowl. 

"So they've started calling you a demi-god?" Sam was astounded. "You are an intelligent and caring man, no doubt important to the political world of Rome, but you are no god." 

"Some things he can do are heavenly," Dean murmured much to Castiel's embarrassment. 

"That is what suppression does, makes a popular god out of a man of little virtue," Castiel shrugged. "If I was not under arrest, the people of Rome would hardly see me as the figure of anti-Michael and Lucifer sentiments. But now that they have persecuted me, of course those who are abhorred by their rise to power would look for a face to put to their resentment." 

"They say there are men converging in the city, country labourers, veterans, people displaced by the movement of Lucifer's army, the poor who have been taxed into misery, freed slaves and even a few wealthy merchants who are calling themselves Castiel's Army and organising nightly protests and small infractions on the palaces." 

"The palaces?" Castiel raised his eyebrows. 

"Michael renamed his home Paradiso and Lucifer has taken over the central city bath as his administration centre." 

"Oh gods," Castiel groaned. 

"Lucifer is looking for a hundred virginal ladies of Rome from which to select his queen," Cain added with a smile. 

"He will need a miracle to find any," Castiel rolled his eyes. "How is that going for him?" 

"There has been lots of impromptu marriages and frankly, orgies," Cain laughed. "Michael in the meantime has begun his search for the elixir of life, every witch, conman, fraudster and aphrodisiac peddler in the empire is lined up in front of his doors. Offering every herb, spice, secret potion and magical pill imaginable."

"He'll be poisoned within the month!" Castiel said incredulously. "Foolishness and decay, poor Roma." 

"Did you hear of Lucifer's new ambition to be lauded author?" Cain added. "He has banned all of your writing, made bonfires out of those contained in the capital's library and ordered everything you have ever put quill to to be rewritten under the name of Tacitus." 

"Lucifer's own middle name?" Castiel asked incredulous. "What would he want with manuals on painting and instructions on philosophy?" 

"He wants what is yours, your fame and your intellect," Cain said. "You have written histories and accounts of wars as well as more aesthetic tomes. Lucifer is erasing you from history and coveting all of your infamy as a forerunner in progressive thinking. You are dead Castiel, your name buried, struck from the records and from literature. You no longer exist." 

Castiel seemed a little shaken at the revelation but when Dean pressed into his side in a gesture of solidarity, he brightened. "Yet here I stand, no worse, no less than I am, without my name." 

Dean beamed at Castiel with admiration. 

"And the gods hate thieves more than they hate peaceful cowards like me. Michael and Lucifer has stolen the whole empire," Castiel said gravely. "There will be a reckoning." 

The guards listened to Cain's tales with increasingly worried faces. That night, two slipped away under the cover of darkness, leaving their armour abandoned in the barn. 

=&=&=&= 

The convivial atmosphere disappeared on a freezing morning when the ground was frozen even inside the barn. Castiel had woken more than warm enough with Dean plastered against his back. The guards looking down upon them and prodding them with the tip of their swords were dressed in impractical white and aqamarine. The silver laurels on their heads looked like they might blind the wearer with a single head bump. The engraving over their chest plate was of a winged serpent against a background of splayed light. Lucifer's garish crest was now augmented with a bulbous crown upon it's serpentine head. Castiel wondered why Lucifer had not noticed the artist had used the shapes of the wings to make his emblem look like a shrivelled, bejewelled, dick.

"The prince wants to say goodbye," Lucifer's personal guards informed him. "Before he would go willingly with us to the capital." 

Castiel was up and on his feet in an instant, slipping past the swords with fluid ease. "Jack, where is he?" 

"In the coach," the guard said. "He threatened to tell his father we mistreated him if we did not wake you for a farewell." 

"If you dare take him against his will..." Castiel said his voice dangerously smooth and low. 

"He wrote to our commander and asked to be picked up," the solider said with a smug expression. "Why would he want to be heir to a ruined house when his father has risen to the rank of King?" 

Castiel was in disbelief when he found Jack sitting calmly within the vehicle, the horses neighing impatiently, a small packed bundle by his side. A thick wolf skin was draped across his lap by a fawning guard. 

"I was going to slip away with them but then I could not bring myself to go without saying goodbye," Jack smiled at Castiel, his watery blue eyes making Castiel's chest hurt. "I know you told me my father is an impossible man to persuade but I cannot pass up the chance." 

"He will turn on you Jack, I wish he were a better man," Castiel said hurriedly. "No chance at advancement or glory that he can offer you will be sincere or without an irrevocable price." 

"I know," Jack nodded. "But I cannot stand idly by when all of Rome suffers and my family is endangered. I will ask Lucifer for clemency for you Castiel or he will have no son. I will denounce his house publicly, turn servant to his enemies, bleat the wrath of the lamb till the roof of his house caves in. My mind is made up, I was brought up by a stubborn father." 

"Jack, I cannot allow you, you cannot. He'll try to turn you into him. He'll take you to the front, make a butcher out of a babe. Please ..." 

Jack stood up, sticking his torso out of the carriage. Carefully and gently he draped he wolfskin around Castiel's shoulders. 

"Till we meet again father," Jack said, holding Castiel tight in his arms. "I will dream of seeing you and our family again." 

Castiel stood dumbfounded as the carriage pulled away, Dean holding onto his elbow with a placating hand over his heart. Cain watched Jack leave with a solemn face. 

"Your son is a man today," was all Cain said. "May the gods protect the foolish babe."

Castiel could see that Dean was fretting. He was spending long hours whispering to Rowena and Ruby around the camp, much to the suspicion of the more conscientious guards. Castiel used the opportunity to call Gadreel to him and as they worked side by side on the mending of the mill's grinding stone, they conversed in urgent secrecy. 

"He would hunt you to the ends of the earth," Gadreel hissed in alarm when Castiel told him of his plan. 

"I only need to be free until Dean and Sam are safely off," Castiel said with a dubious look at Cain's profile in the distance. "Cain can do what he will with me once they are gone. Besides, have you not seen how the guards behave around him?"

Gadreel looked quizzically over to where Cain was assisting with the shoeing of a horse. 

"They watch his every move." 

"They are attentive guards," Gadreel hazarded a guess. 

"Hardly, they are afraid of him," Castiel said thoughtfully. "I wonder why." 

The evening post arrived with a half dead pigeon, it had flown all the way from the capital and seemed to have been caught by a hunting hound or stray fox at one point. The black wings were twisted and it was bleeding from the beak as it half heartedly drank from its tough. The news it brought was even grimmer. Cain breaking the black seal laminated with gold foil. The crest was a joint one, Michael's simple halo around Lucifer's penis dragon, showing they are finally agreeing on something. 

"This order must be read out aloud upon receipt," Cain read as the camp fire flickered, the hungry winter wolves howled in the distant mountains. "Cain Marcus Annihilus, Ancient of Lucifurous Tacitus Malice Lux, is hereby charged with the execution of Castiel Artistos Angeles Nova former commander of the Roman army, former senator of Rome, former instructor of the Crown Prince, upon first light in the morning of the 28th of May in the Year of the First Reign of Emperor Michael and King Lucifer." 

The guards were upon Dean before he could spring up, tearing him from Castiel's side. Iron shackles were produced, one end locked around Castiel's wrist and the other sealed over Cain's. The clouds raced over the moon and the sound of weeping broke out all over the camp as the news travelled.


	13. Chapter 13

According to more detailed reports sent to Cain in the night, the dual crown now had a witness and a real case against Castiel. Not just any poor tortured person dragged up from the dungeons to say whatever Michael and Lucifer wished to hear but a woman known to all of Rome as a member of Castiel’s household. Her name was Meg, Claire’s handmaiden, who often did her dangerous and subversive biddings the royal court papers outlined. It was only the majesty of Michael and Lucifer’s glorious presence that had induced the heathen witch to tell the truth. The entire plot was there, a handsome succubus, a Druid lord, has infiltrated Castiel’s house in the form of one Dean Winchester. Castiel has given up all his loyalty to Rome to lie between the demonic loins and succour upon the root of evil. So enamoured and poisoned was his mind, that the gods had called down punishment on Castiel’s house and people, sending earthquakes and volcano blasts to wake him from his lust. To no avail of course and now Michael and Lucifer had no choice but to execute Castiel to appease the gods. 

“Apart from the supernatural bit, I would say guilty as charged,” Castiel said lightheartedly, hooking his foot over Dean’s calf. “Would you grant a sinful man one last succour on your devious root? I’m sure Cain would not mind.” 

The chain jangled as Cain grunted and rolled to turn his back on them. “Suck what you want but do not wake me,” Cain grumbled. “I have an execution to carry out in the morning.” 

“I’ll stretch my neck to ensure it is sufficiently pliant for your blade on the morrow, General Cain,” Castiel made a soft moan when Dean burrowed into his chest. 

“Stop making jokes of your death,” Dean complained. “Cas...” 

“There’s little time left before my death, I must take every comedic opportunity,” Castiel said. “You must be prepared, Dean, my heart and my love, for the time to come when we must part ways.” 

“I will follow you into Hades’ realm like Orpheus for Eurydice and I won’t eat any fruit either on the way out of Hellas.” 

“You are brave and wilful and I have do doubt you could challenge the gods and make them beg for mercy,” Castiel ran his fingers gently through Dean’s hair, it had grown a little longer and curled at the tips in a fashionable Roman style. “But this is me begging you to take your leave. Cain will not stop you if you and Sam departed now. Why stay for the heartbreak and the bloodshed which I am trying so hard to stem before the red sunrise. Take Rowena and Ruby, they are your faithful companions are they not? I am sure Rowena is really a witch and Ruby the most dangerous assassin I’ve ever had do my laundry. Those friends of yours are rebels, Gabriel has information on each of them, dossiers he shared with me the day they came to my house. It was no coincidence that I was permitted to find you in Metatron’s parlour, Gadreel confessed as much. Metatron was paid to have you and Sam and Ruby and Rowena under his roof, disguised as slaves, so that I might take pity on you and purchase your freedom. Confess your sins upon me Dean for your deviousness and your ingenuity in engineering our meeting has me trembling with awe. What schemes and what complexity roil in that beautiful head of yours. Who are you in the house of Campbell?” 

Dean blinked at Castiel who without speaking pressed his hand over Dean’s chest where his clan tattoo was situated. It was one of his favourite spots for laving and nibbling and kissing and Dean knew how he had studied the intricate sun design with fingers and mouth and other things besides. He seemed unsurprised that Castiel has recognised the Campbell house insignia. 

“If I told you, would you give me up to Michael and Lucifer, therefore extinguishing your death sentence?” Dean stared up at Castiel, the colour high in his cheeks from Castiel’s admiring comments. “Because if you say you would, I would tell you now, the whole heart and fruit of the truth.” 

“I would only be pleased that my lover has a strong family he could return to,” Castiel rubbed his hands over Dean’s tensed shoulders. “And no, I would not trade you for clemency, to throw the precious life of the beloved away for my own dreary one is a poor bargain. And I am a profiteer. The coffers of state for a look at your face, the empire for your smile, my name for your heart, my soul for your soul. Every bargain I ever made with you Dean has enriched me beyond measure.”

Dean was weeping silently now and Castiel kissed every tear from the corners of his eyes, like a hummingbird at overbrimming nectar. The kisses turned soft and hard when their lips eventually met. Dean’s mouth was sweet with saliva and salty with weeping, the lips blooming swollen as they moved over Castiel’s face, pressing hurriedly to cheekbones and jawlines, neck and brow. The chain tinkled as they kissed with mute passion, pressing their groins together and twisting their limbs around one another, a guard made a sound on the other end of the barn like a pant. Still the chains rattled just a little louder than Cain’s thunderous snores. The rhythmic jangling softening into shuddering bells and then stillness and quiet. 

“I saw Ruby and Rowena sneak off into the woods, they did not return for supper,” Castiel whispered into Dean’s ear. 

Dean was gasping for air with his mouth open and his eyes still shut. “Gimme a minute Cas, come on.” 

When Dean was able to breathe again he sighed into Castiel’s ear. “I sent them after Jack. To protect him from Lucifer.” 

“I would berate you for giving up your own personal protection for my son but I think it works out better to travel light for you and Sam anyway.” 

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” Dean said. “You have enough men and women here who are loyal to you, they are veterans and even their young are well trained for battle. They want only your word to fight the guards, most of whom are afraid and longing to be on the winning side for once. You have an army in the capital of passionate defender for your name. You could begin a revolution with a single command. Even Cain seems reluctant to carry out his order, which he ought to have done by now rather than wait like a fool to be ambushed in the night. Gabriel has his hands tied but he is still influential in the capital. Between you and him all the mercantile and military authority lies. Michael and Lucifer have only superficial strength. So why not Castiel, why not use your power and make yourself ruler of Rome?” 

“I thought rebels were meant to depose Roman tyranny, here you are trying to talk me into becoming the tyrant,” Castiel smiled, caressing Dean’s determined face. “Fishing for a crown? Would you like to be made Queen Dean of Winchester? You would look fetching in a gown.”

“I want you to fight, to resist!” Dean fisted his hand in Castiel’s hair. 

“Every day I fight for peace. Michael and Lucifer are right, I have no interest in the glory of Rome, I have consorted with rebels with an open mind, I have learnt from you as you have learnt from me. This is my war,” Castiel placed his fingers on Dean’s temples, then slowly slid them down to Dean’s heart. “This my battle field. I am close to victory.”

Dean looked at the finger poised over his his heart, he nodded in surrender. “You are the finest commander I have ever met and I am yours to command Castiel.” 

Then he threw his arms around Castiel and squeezed the life and lust from him once more. 

=&=&=&= 

Cain awoke in an energetic and fearsome mood. The villagers were standing around the harvest square in solemn simmering anger. The farming tools they held steadily in their hands gleamed under the dawn light, sharpened and honed with use. There were hundreds of people of various ages, lined up into two flanks through which Cain pulled Castiel along after him, seemingly oblivious to the threatening atmosphere. The guards, all ten of the remaining dozen, hesitated before following Cain into the throng, looking around with dismay at all the armed villagers who could easily overpower the lot of them. Gadreel was standing at the head of the square, on a golden pile of wheaten straw, a copper bowl in his hand. A block of stone had been set up and sat ominous in a small opening. The straw was presumably laid out to soak up the forthcoming blood. 

Castiel looked up at the sky, a pair of too early swallows flittered over the horizon in joyful song. 

“Let’s not dawdle,” Cain unsheathed his sword. 

Castiel knelt down and laid his head and chest down on the stone, his hands on the sides of his head. 

“Any last words?” 

Castiel looked up at Dean’s ashen face and said calmly. “You’re so hot, can’t believe I got to sleep with you.” 

Cain snorted and the sword came crashing down on the stone, slicing right through the chain that joined their hands. Gadreel shouted “Treason!” 

Already Cain and Castiel were running for the trees, as they passed Dean, Castiel grabbed him by the hand and Cain swooped over Sam. The villagers closed ranks over the soldiers, tools tripping them and livestock getting in the way. Gadreel was the fastest to react and mustered up a handful of men to give chase.

“Do you have the sketches?” Castiel asked as they sprinted. 

Dean patted the sash on his waist, running too fast to answer. The four of them sprinted through the woods and coming down a crest a woman darted out of hiding with two spare horses in tow. It was Hannah their housekeeper, though she had gotten rid of her dress and was now in breeches and leather armour, a well worn sword hung from her side. 

“Hannah was my ancient and the most skilled fighter I had. So loyal that when we retired she wanted to be our housekeeper so that she could keep watch over me. Hannah has been working on safe passage for you and Sam all the way to the harbour. She has found a trust worthy vessel with a reliable captain. She will see you safely home.” 

Sam nodded gratefully to Castiel and took a seat upon the white plough mare. Castiel led Dean by the hand to Impala, the black horse nuzzling into Castiel’s side with longing. 

“A parting gift, my war horse, long may you ride her to safety,” Castiel passed the reigns to Dean, the horse huffed softly. 

Dean was speechless and blinking fast to keep his eyes dry. 

“I will overturn heaven and earth,” Dean held Castiel’s hands. “Till we are together again.” 

“Give me my victory that I have earned,” Castiel kissed Dean on the mouth, a quick warm peck. “Let Rome blossom in your heart and think of me when you think of her.” 

Dean nodded, climbing on Impala. Castiel stroked Dean’s ass with a teasing smile then gave the horse’s rump a firm whack. 

As the three of them rode away, Cain sighed with relief. “To be honest I thought you and him might have tried to squeeze in a quick fuck on the ground for your farewell.” 

“I don’t do things by half measures, Cain,” Castiel smiled. “I worship beauty at a leisurely pace.” 

“Not last night,” Cain retorted, they were running to the prearranged spot where Gadreel was going to lead the guards. “The chains only jangled for a few minutes.” 

Castiel blushed. “I wasn’t being facetious when I said he is very hot.” 

Gadreel was standing at the cliff side with some of the most dimwitted guards in the empire, their swords raised. Cain launched himself at them and Castiel did too. Somehow Cain’s blade missed all his adversaries and Castiel’s fists landed a little too soft. Within minutes, they were at the edge of the cliff. Then Castiel slipped and fell, arms open and flying backwards into the abyss. Gadreel lifted his boot and kicked Cain in his wounded leg and his body also sailed over the edge. Gadreel peered down over the precipice then turned and told the guards to return to Rome. 

“Our duty is done, Castiel is dead and Cain the traitor along with him.” 

Castiel could hear the guards shuffling off in the direction of the high road even as he was changing into the set of generic armour Gadreel had stowed away for them in the cave on the wall of the cliff. There was a small smuggler’s path that led all the way down the mountain. Half a day and they would be on the wagon roads that supplied the Roman troops. There ought to be an outpost where he and Cain and find passage to their destination. 

For a moment, Castiel thought about Jack and Claire. His heart a little torn on whether this was the right course of action to take. Though he had long plotted this eventuality, it was difficult to let his children find their own way in the treacherous world. He thought of Jack’s determined face and Claire’s stubborn grin and said a prayer onto Dionysus that one day they will all be reunited to live and feast and thrive again, until then the gods keep them safe. 

=&=&=&=

Captain Inias of Lucifer’s Glorious Army kissed the clay tablet that hung around his neck and said his nightly prayers. 

“Castiel Nova, patron demi-god of the troops, grant us a safe journey to Briton and victory amongst the heathens.” 

Captain Inias knew that if anyone overheard him praying to a declared traitor of Rome, his prospects of promotion would be further dimmed. As it was his garrison was a tiny one, with soldiers too young to be useful and too starved of provisions. Still, Captain Inias had his copy of Castiel’s war strategies, nay now known as Tacitus’ war strategies, and whatever the authorities up in Rome thought of Castiel, Inias knew his words were instructional. The clay tablet he had commissioned from an artistic fellow solider who swears he had at least laid eyes on Castiel once in his life, during some Bacchic parade or another. The side profile was overwhelmingly handsome, with strong brows, high cheekbones and a womanly mouth. Hidden far in the depths of Captain Inias’ personal pack was another bunch of papers that might damn his career. A collection of Castiel’s steamy confessions of sin and debauchery lately published on the senate forum walls as evidence of his betrayal of Rome. Illegal copies of the confessions were being made in secret by admirers of the raunchy accounts, it had cost Inias a month’s wine allowance to get himself a facsimile riddled with errors but the gist of the stories was still enough to keep him going to his tent as soon as it was dark and spend the night burning out all his candle allowance with a red and satisfied face. 

Captain Inias was just getting into his favourite bit where Castiel is inspecting his troops. The scenario was a ridiculous one, where Castiel had volunteers line up along a wall with their leather skirts hitched up, proclaiming he could spot a fine soldier by the shape and heft of his backside alone. It was the chapter titled An Assessment of Roman Asses and Castiel had spotted a pair of foreign globes amidst the sea of patriotic asses. It was pale and freckled and Castiel had determined that the owner of said ass might be trying to smuggle navigational charts out Rome by painting them onto his behind. So it was imperative that he licked said round globes to check if every freckle was real or painted caramel speckles. Inias groaned and took himself in hand, head rolling backward as he read of Castiel’s enthusiastic interrogation of the foreign ass. Just as he came to a shuddering finish, the flap on his tent flew open, startling him into shoving his book under his pillow and his damp hands down his trousers. Except in the shock and confusion, he had pushed the book into the puddle of semen in his lap and his wet palms into his own pillow, leaving streaks of emission in his own hair. 

“I’m sorry captain, we caught these men loitering on the edge of camp, they say they are lost from their garrison and needs to get back to Briton.” 

Captain Inias made an attempt to tidy himself and prayed to Castiel that the candle had burnt low enough to hide his debauched state. The two men who came into the captain’s tent did indeed look like Romans. One was older with silvered hair and a broad back, a slight limp in his leg did not make the overall effect any less daunting. The other was a stunningly handsome man of a becoming age, with shockingly blue eyes, dark brown hair and cheekbones almost as high as Inias’ secret tablet of Castiel. The lips were almost as full but startlingly pink which clay could never convey. He was too young and brought too low to be The Castiel of course but he fitted Inias’ imagined picture of the demi-god well enough. Instantly, Captain Inias was lost. 

“We’ve lost our garrison and the paperwork is very muddled,” said the man of Inias’ dreams. “Be a friend and let us join your garrison, we are veterans, we’ll be useful to you.” 

Clever eyes danced over Inias’ lovestruck face, there was mirth in the depths of them. 

“You’ll ... you will be ... useful,” Inias stuttered. “If you know of uh Tacitus’ strategy and are familiar with his works on field battle.” 

“Funny you should ask that,” blue eyes twinkled. “I am intimately familiar with the works of Castiel, nay Tacitus, since the king’s reassigning of authorship. I think him a poor writer but I am able to recall all of his work.” 

“Even ... even the Forbidden Confessions?” Inias felt the heat rise in his cheeks and loins simultaneously. 

“Even the unpublished stuff, too salacious for the walls,” came the honey dripping reply. “I can tell it to you every evening to help ease the drudgery of the march.”

“Have you a ship ready for sail?” Asked the older veteran, rolling his eyes. 

“Yes, we leave for the Isles in the morrow,” Inias said. “But wait, if I am to take two virtual strangers as Roman legionnaires I must have something. Names.” 

“Angeles of Vesuvius and Marcus of Pompeii at your service,” said the blue eyed man. 

One of Castiel’s middle names was Angeles, Inias took that to be an auspicious sign.


	14. Chapter 14

Captain Inias, as things turned out, was an able seaman. A talent which Castiel did not discover until the turning of the tide at the dark waters where a storm came upon the haphazard fleet of supply ships. Quickly the vessels scattered to the four winds and the swell churned like a vortex calling for the souls of the Roman legionnaires. The men resorted to tying themselves to the masts, while Inias, Castiel and Cain took turns manning the wheel. The captain had been hit by a runaway mast and was being nursed below decks through a concussion. 

“Where did you learn to sail like this?” Inias asked Castiel incredulous. 

“I have been through a fair few sea journeys, spent a few decades in the legions,” Castiel said. 

“I have never heard of you.” 

“You are probably too young.” 

“You cannot be more than a handful of years older than me, you look to be in your prime,” Inias said with admiration. “How do you know which way is north in all this bluster?” 

“I do not know where true north lies, not in the darkness anyway,” Castiel said. “I am merely bending the sails with the winds so that we are not ripped apart.” 

“But then how will we get back on course?” 

“By staying alive,” Castiel said obliquely. 

“Go below decks and give me my turn in peace,” Cain bumped Castiel off the wheel. “Send the young captain up to me when it is dawn, he is half useful at plotting our course on a map.” 

“How do you know the waterways so well?” Castiel inquired of Inias. “You’re infantry and a supply garrison at that.”

“My father was a fisherman and I have to confess my mother’s family were from these parts of Brittany,” Inias stated honestly. “It has been difficult to find promotion with my background but at least I am familiar with the sea and terrain.”

“How many battle have you seen?” Castiel asked curiously. 

Inias hesitated. “Including this one?” 

Castiel nodded encouragingly. 

“And all the other before? Excluding the ones where I delivered the supplies just in time to watch the battle wind up. And not counting the military parades where I dress in silver and wave a shining staff?” Inias bowed his head in embarrassment. “A total of none.” 

Castiel laughed and Inias stared at his face in awe as if the moon had suddenly made an appearance in the velvet night. 

“That is the right amount,” Castiel clapped his hand over Inias’ shoulder. “Now come below with me, Marcus likes his solitude when he is duelling with Poseidon.” 

They were both damp with sea spray when they entered the warm bows of the ship. The legionnaires lay in sickly piles, their armour cast aside, quite a few had never travelled by sea before and were finding the motion sickness debilitating. The whole garrison was made up of men not much older than Jack and Castiel’s heart filled with pity as he looked at their trusting faces. The provisions which they were tasked with delivering were mostly wine and spirits, some dried meats and cheeses for the officers but the grain that was meant for the troops was of a poor quality and half spoiled. Inias was a strict and diligent captain and he bade the men not to touch the supplies and tried to stretch out their own meagre provisions as much as possible. They were already in low spirits and never had they even lain eyes on their foes. Though a little officious and unimaginative in his command, Inias was against all of Castiel’s preconceived notions a good captain. He shared his own provisions with Castiel and Cain, there having been insufficient time to request more provisions in the haste of their boarding The Abaddon. There was only one bedroll on the floor, set a little apart from the other soldiers, with a fur trimmed blanket that looked handmade. 

Inias gave him half the blanket to share, they pressed their backs to the groaning wooden walls and Castiel borrowed some lamplight to continue his sketches while Inias read secretively from his hoard of papers. The conversation was friendly. 

“How did you come to join the Roman legions? You could have as easily been on the side of the Britons,” Castiel asked softly, lest the other soldiers overhear. 

“My father was a legionnaire with Lucifer’s army, I applied when I came of age. When I was a boy with my father off at war, the ships would come through the harbour and press upon the locals. I thought that if I became a captain one day and had the power and authority of Rome, I would use it more kindly.” 

Castiel gave Inias a nod. “A noble fool then.” 

“No more fool than you, look at the beautiful Apollo you keep drawing, like a man with a possessed imagination,” Inias said with good humour, gesturing to Castiel’s intricate sketch of a man in Celtic armour. “There can be no real person that beautiful under the sun. It is always the same face, no matter the subject of your drawing, the man in the bath, the Roman Bacchus, the farm hand and the hunter. The same man over and over. You are enamoured with your own creation like Pygmalion.” 

“Would you rather a tale of Castiel then, my captain?” Came the teasing suggestion. 

Inias blushed to the roots of his glossy hair. “I think not. Not tonight and not ever again.” 

Castiel put down his drawing, tearing his eyes away from Dean’s likeness. “Did my story not please you? I thought I left it on a cliffhanger and you would only be too keen for a continuation.”

Inias cleared his throat. “It is not the quality of the tale, or its enticing ending. The problem is Angeles, I am your superior and you are a man in love. I would not want to have my passions visibly enflamed and have you think that I would press you romantically with my intentions. You are a good solider and you need not fear my power.” 

“I am awed by your power and authority,” Castiel smiled broadly at Inias’ discomfort. “But in love? What gave you such an idea?” 

“If the person in your drawing exists, then I am sure that is the one you love, though I suspect you have greatly exaggerated his beauty but then again that is in the eyes of the beholder.” 

“And what would you know of love, young captain?” 

Inias pulled out the clay tablet hung on his neck, shyly he showed Castiel the crudely sketched out profile. One eye was bigger than the other and the nose was far more slim than his. 

“This is Castiel, the greatest commander, writer and artist in all of the empire. I have read all his works, memorised his treatises on war and I strive to embody his wisdom in all I do. I love him as platonically as the mountains love the ocean or the mists love the isles. News came last night of his demise, persecuted by the very commander I serve. And my heart is broken at the world’s loss of this stellar mind but I will do all to keep his legacy alive.” 

“Is that why you did not want your rations last night?” Castiel remarked. “Pity, it was stew and I was sure there was a slice of mutton in it. Still Marcus and I took your portion, it was delicious thank you.” 

Inias bowed his head and stared at the clay effigy with tears in his eyes. 

“I would not be too overwrought with grief, the man was a great hedonist and he is probably feasting with Dionysus in the afterworld,” Castiel said. 

“I had hoped to work my way up the ranks and should he have come out of retirement, now that the battle with the Britons is at a crucial stage, it had been my greatest wish to serve under him.” 

Castiel raised an eyebrow. 

“In a strictly platonic sense,” Inias added. “Shut up angel face!” 

Castiel smothered his laugher and collected his thoughts. “In the morning, if you see any merchant ships hail them.” 

Inias was baffled. “Why would I do that?” 

“To offer the assistance of the empire after a storm of course, captain,” Castiel said innocently. 

Though a little dubious, Inias did call over two merchant ships that passed them in the morning. They were miles off course and the merchants allowed the Romans to board willingly, desperate for assistance in mending sails and erecting masts. For the legion’s manpower, the merchants offered payment but Castiel waved the gold aside and humbly suggested an offering of food was more appropriate. Suddenly, crates of fresh vegetables, fish and fruits were being carried onboard by grateful traders. The food would have spoiled anyway, since the ships were late to go to market due to the storm. The garrison feasted and Castiel showed the men how to preserve the produce using sea water. The other merchant ship carried grains and the hungry garrison looked at the bags of golden corn and honey wheat Castiel bartered for with great relief. They would be sailing with full stomaches and in far better spirits. Castiel also obtained from the merchants news of how other ships had faired in the storm, what vessels had made harbour and which boats had been lost. The hidden focus of his enquiry was for a ship called The Hermione, a livestock carrier of horses from Arabia which were being traded in the ports of Briton. He was glad to hear that vessel had reached harbour days ago. By Castiel’s calculations, they were now at least a week off course and the journey on foot to the Campbell territory from this side of the isle would be long and arduous. Perhaps he would arrive a month after Dean and Sam, or it might take even longer. 

With each passing day at sea the situation in Rome changed, through the merchants they passed Castiel carefully pieced together the political picture. The honeymoon was over for Michael and Lucifer, with the former insisting the latter return to the battlefields and quell the rebel threats once and for all. Lucifer had been reluctant to leave Michael to rule Rome, so there had been some power struggles whereby Michael accused Lucifer of attempting a military coup. News of Castiel and Cain’s death had reached Rome and the repercussions had been profound. Senators wore black sashes to the debate and people painted their front doors black in mourning. Someone gave the new marble bust of Lucifer in sartorial square demonic horns. Cain’s absence on the front lines was keenly felt, Lucifer’s troops were increasingly restless and uncertain. Lucifer had always been a cruel and capricious leader, his inconsistent commands softened by Cain’s more measured execution of his orders. Now the troops could see the true face of Lucifer and they were horrified by it. Lastly, Castiel heard from those merchants friendly with the locals, that over the neutral territory Claire had ascended to her mother’s throne and in her first days of power struck a new alliance with neighbouring Gaul. The chief there was new too, a young leader recently returned from adversity named Samandrial. The most heartening news though was of the people’s prince. Lucifer’s prodigal son had convinced a whole third of the army to lay down their arms. The group snuck off into the night and it was rumoured that the deserting legionnaires received amnesty from Mary of Campbell. A great battle was poised to be had between Lucifer’s remaining army and the Britons united under Mary’s banner. Into this standoff their ship sailed, carrying a boatload of naive young soldiers and two weary veterans. 

The beach was a sickening tone of coral when they made harbour. The legionnaires disembarked in an orderly fashion, trying to ignore the sharks feasting in the shallow waters they waded through. Stoney faced men with haunted eyes came and took all of the supplies from the ship, then left just as quickly. Inias clenched his jaw and walked forward to speak to the other commander. Castiel and Cain surveyed the scene of carnage, the dead horses and burning piles. They kept their heads low when older troops filed past them, but it was probably unnecessary. These men walked like ghouls and looked through them as if they were ghosts. The battle still fresh in their minds as they sought out a warm meal, a hot fire and fierier liquor. After the briefing, Inias led his legion to the edge of the beach to set up camp for the night. They were as a man all in good health having been amply provided for on the journey over through Castiel’s clever networking with the civilian fleet. 

It Cain who spoke first as the soldiers huddled around the fire. 

“He charged them at crossbows and elephant traps,” Cain said. “They were more fodder than solider, ground meat in the machine of war. Lives spent like coins to buy an advantage on the other side of the isle, to draw the Campbell troops a little further afield. I would not have commanded my men to die so pointlessly, but I am no general.” 

“I will not send my men to die, the orders are clear, we are to replenish the front lie rather than leave for another supply run. Dead men do not need supplies,” Inias said through gritted teeth. “Seems you must all disobey one command or another. Follow Lucifer’s orders and die in glory, or follow my orders and turn treasonous.” 

The troops looked afraid and that is when Castiel stood up to speak. 

“You know me, I am old and weary for fighting, but you’ve seen on the way over that I have some skill with a sword and more ways with words. I have here a posthumous command from the late Castiel. A daring journey into Briton territory that might turn the tide of history. And I am looking for volunteers.” 

The young legionnaires looked at one another uncertainly, there were no words spoken. 

In the morning, there was nothing left of Inias’ garrison than a drowned out camp fire. 

Castiel walked with the garrison through the woody terrain. The mists made it hard to tell which way they were headed but Cain paced ahead with quiet confidence. The march would take at least a week, more if they can’t find some horses. They would need to hunt and procure for themselves along the way and any Roman legions that see them would want their heads. Although probably any Britons too for that matter. Though Castiel hoped against hope, though they were far too south still, that he would find Dean’s people somehow. 

At night, Castiel laid under the canopy of trees and watched the stars spin in the sky. There are stars that told of the direction of true north. Romantically, Castiel wished there was a star that would always lead him to Dean. He fumbled in his armour till he found the small slip of lace and silk, held it to his nose and breathed. It smelt more of him than Dean now, but Castiel had enough imagination to remember the warmth of it when basked in the heat of Dean’s loins. The whole camp was asleep with the tireless captain sitting at watch. So Castiel turned in the captain’s bedroll and rubbed the undergarment against his groin. He felt no impulse to rush towards orgasm in Dean’s absence, there was just an aching of desire pooling in his abdomen, more a pain than a pleasure. Still he cried out for Dean under his breath, wondered where Dean was on this great big island and looked to the moon with lonely longing. 

=&=&=&=

The war room was filled with maps and charts and Sam was asleep at his desk. Dean had walked out, he thought he heard someone call his name. All he found in the wilderness outside his tent was the quick flittering grey shadows of wolves. A she wolf stood still, her eyes glimmering in the moonlight, she raised her heckles and howled. Dean looked up at the moon, it was full and white and bright. A beautiful glowing star in the night. He had found no trace of Castiel, despite sending out all the scouts he could spare. He trusted Castiel to be too clever to leave much of a trail, the man had a reputation for unpredictability. Still, a word, a rumour, anything would help him to not feel so alone. Though his family had rejoiced at his return and he had been making strong progress in his negotiations, the war had still been a bloody one. Even now, Mary was off fighting battles along multiple fronts. His sister was commanding a band of resistance fighters in the west. His youngest brother was holding down the south. He and Sam were here in the relative security of the east because it was thought that his role was too important to risk on the front line. Dean’s stomach turned at the daily reports of casualties on both sides. Lucifer had abandoned all subtly and was now pitting warrior against warrior in a battle of attrition that simply ground down the troops on both sides. Mary had always favoured sporadic attacks and Lucifer’s new methods were wearing down her numbers far quicker than before. At this rate, thought Dean bitterly, there’ll be no one left to fight for Briton soon. No survivors to master and no tyrants to obey, just mutual destruction. 

It was everything Castiel predicted in his war tomes. The powers locking horns and the people suffering. Dean rubbed his hands over his face. What would Castiel do if he were in his place? Dean lifted his head and looked at the moon again. What was on the other side of the moon, he suddenly wondered, the flip side of an impossible challenge was an unexploited opportunity. 

In the moonlight, thinking of his Roman lover, Dean began to plot.


	15. Chapter 15

The clan meeting was not going well. Mary was sat at the head of the table, frowning as she downed the potion the medicine woman made. There were Campbells, Turners, Winchesters, Singers, Bradburys and Lafittes just to name a few and more tribe elders and clan heads and mob leaders sitting on the floor. The whole mess of Briton's rulers were congregated and Mary was coughing up a fit. Dean wanted to go to her, knowing how badly injured she had been in the last battle, but of course no one apart from Mary's closest confidantes could know just how much she needed to rest. Mary hid her injury well, blustering for more liquor in her goblet, to hide the sheen of sweat over her brow and the subtle swaying of her torso. 

"Why did you not kill Lucifer when you had the chance?" One of the Campbell cousin was demanding. "I heard his troops all but left him exposed to your attack. You could have finished him when he was on his knees gibbering for mercy. How many lives have you forfeited Mary but letting him run away?" 

Mary opened her mouth to speak but a great spluttering cough emerged which she hid behind her fist. She frowned fiercely at the speaker. Dean stood up from his chair at her right hand. 

"Killing Lucifer would have only brought Michael to the Isles. And though he is no warrior his wealth would keep the front supplied with legionnaires for years. Our Queen was right to let him live, so that his own people could see his disgraceful retreat." 

"She should have kept him captive," suggested a worried looking Bradbury. "Now he is loose in my territory, a Roman general and self proclaimed King. What havoc could he do?" 

"Your knight is returning from the skirmishes, having settled the harbour," Sam stood up on Mary's left. "There is no need for concern. Charlie will hunt Lucifer out or report to us his whereabouts if he has left." 

"And all those Roman solider running around with that devil's prince," the speaker continued to complain. "Do you know they are building ships? Erecting their own woodmills and workshops, smelting down their armour to make tools?" 

"How industrious," Sam said unperturbed. "That's Jack's followers right?" 

"They say they want to explore the world. There are villagers helping them now, curious young folk who want to join in the fun! Are we to allow them to turn half Roman half pirate?" 

"Would you rather those young men war and pillage?" Dean asked sternly. "There are worse things to be than Roman." 

A silence fell upon the assembled leaders. Dean walked forward. His face reposed with purpose, his words clear and concise. 

"For decades we have fought the Romans. We have lost battles and won others. What has our independence brought us? We have no land to farm because all we have grown are graves. Our children are brought up as warriors and survivalists but they have little use for an education and have no option but to continue the war on behalf of their parents. Our religious practices are more secret and elusive than before, so secret we have forgotten most of it. What was the last great book we wrote? We pass on our lore via word of mouth, to evade the fate of our truths being twisted by the Romans and in turn we are silenced. We have resisted and bled and fought and that is brave but it is also stupid." 

Shocked silence pervaded, Sam was glancing at their audience nervously, Mary coughed and ran her eyes like blades around the room. 

"Tonight Mary has told you she will be stepping down from the throne. Her deposing of Lucifer the final jewel in her retiring crown. You can vote for a new King or a Queen, but you have not voted for the future. If Briton is to survive, even thrive, we must take all that Rome can offer and make it our own. One day, they will not speak of the Roman Empire but its successor Briton. One day, glory will be ours and then it will pass. And we will see the reward for our labours in the freedom of our children, the prevailing of our culture. Let not the Romans improve us, let us better them, not in war but tomorrow."

Dean turned to Sam. "I nominate Sam Winchester as King. Who will vote with me?"

There was silence, then murmuring, then shaking heads in the hall. 

=&=&=&= 

Castiel reported back to Captain Inias that the woman standing in front of her house in the distance was alone. Her fiery red hair glowed in the greenish light of he woods, her long velvet dress trailing into the fresh green grass. 

"But we saw that troop of legionnaires head this way hours ago, burning and pillaging as they went," Inias said. "They looked like a band of Lucifer's men, recently deserting and it is our duty as Romans to interrupt their unlawful conduct. This is war but they were ... enjoying it too much." 

"I agree Captain," Castiel said. "But it seems the legion has disappeared. And that waving woman is smiling at us from a distance and beckoning us forth." 

"She is a spirit of the land, or a witch of the north," Captain Inias said suspiciously. 

"Would you like me to go and speak to her?" Castiel offered. "If I am bewitched, send in Marcus, he is too stubborn to be bespelled." 

"Wait Angeles, she is coming this way," Inias ran a hand through his hair and checked the fold of his leather skirt, rubbing a hand along his armoured chest to polish up the murky metal. 

As the woman got near, Castiel laughed and extended his hands. "Well met Rowena!" He called out to her. 

"Is she the queen of the Celts?" Inias asked incredulous as Rowena offered her hand for Castiel to kiss. 

"Hardly. I know your captain from my time in Rome, not long ago," Rowena looked at Castiel's winking face and held her tongue.

"You are mistaken, fair swampress, this is the Captain Inias, my captain in fact," Castiel said. "For well you know I am a humble foot soldier of no consequence." 

"How do you know Angeles from Rome? I thought he lived in some backward town of Vesuvius?" Inias asked, indicating to Cain. "And do you know Marcus as well?" 

"I met him ..." Rowena hesitated. "... in the house of Castiel?" 

Inias looked thunderstruck. 

"You were Castiel's servant?" He demanded. "No wonder you know all his works. What was he like? Was he tall? Was he as handsome as his portrait?" 

"Very short, very tyrannical and very ugly I'm afraid," Castiel reported. "I did not wish to spoil your impression of him so I kept my mouth shut." 

"I do not believe a man who can write such wise words and paint such fair scenes could be in anyway ordinary in his looks, his eyes would pierce with intelligence, his mouth sweet with words. Even if he be decrepit with old age or have wine breath." 

Castiel frowned. "I mean he's not entirely unattractive ..." 

Rowena giggled. "Well, love-struck captain and stray angel, follow my every step if you wish to make it safely to the other side of the woods. You were right, a troop did come through but they were unmannered and you know they saw a woman alone in the woods and demanded my hospitality. They wanted to eat my food and feast on my flesh and I'm afraid their impoliteness caused me distraction when I gave them directions across. They are in th swamps now where the leviathan creatures in the silty layers will gobble them up." 

Captain Inias winced but he nodded at her and said. "Thank you for your honesty my lady of the woods, please allow us safe passage." 

Rowena led the troops over certain grassy planes and certain hollowed logs, never seeming to pay attention to her surroundings and humming the whole while. But her guidance was true and the men hardly even got their boots wet by the time they were out of the swamp. 

"Jack heard of your coming through word of Gadreel. He bid me wait for you here and lead you across the swamps, he is only a day's march away," Rowena whispered to Castiel. "There'll be others along the way to help you." 

Castiel bid Rowena a thankful farewell. She told him she was headed for the citadel of the Britons, where a great vote was due to happen to replace Mary of Campbell's rulership. Rowena was representative for the nomadic people of the woods and swamps so she was headed there to have her say. Castiel had never heard of any such citadel and Rowena would only smile and tell him that he would know when he saw it. It was imperative that Castiel go to this meeting ground. 

"Is .... will .... that is ...." Castiel was uncharacteristically tongue-tied. "Winchesters ..." 

"He will be there," Rowena said. "Go to him." 

=&=&=&= 

"The swamp is new," Cain whispered to Castiel when they were sitting down to camp that night. 

Rowena had departed shortly after they were out of the woods, now they were surrounded by muddy hills with scant vegetation. 

"You have been here before," Castiel inquired. "When and how?" 

"I was taken captive ten years ago, I was not high ranking then, Lucifer was still tearing through Rome in his ambitious efforts to become general and Michael was merely beginning his political career. You were a general though, newly promoted from commander of the garrison. You took the troops out of Briton at that time, to deal with more pressing affairs nearer Rome's boarders. My vessel was turned back to shore in a storm and our commander thought us lost. I ended up living with the locals for three seasons. I taught the local children our language, customs and for the most promising students even some sword fighting." 

Castiel's eyes glowed with the light of the fire. "You taught Dean how to fight. That's how you recognised him to be a Briton, what is his connection to the Campbells? Is he a Campbell? I thought he was a Winchester."

"I am not sure, but I think his family is pretty high up amongst the ruling clans," Cain sighed. "I have lost all communication with the people of Briton who were once my keepers and later became friends. Long have I fought for Lucifer to conquerer this land, though I feel no ill towards its people." 

"Why do it then?" Castiel asked. "Why lend your strength to one such as Lucifer?" 

"There is a woman," Cain said in a low voice. "A medicine woman, her name is Collette. She was physician to the army for Mary of Campbell. She was the one who found me half drowned after the storm. She saved my life. So in my time with her people I grew to love her and we are married in the eyes of local law. Lucifer found out about our marriage, he held her hostage and promised me her freedom the day I hand him Brittany. For a decade I warred with her people for love of her. I am afraid to see her again, if she lives, for the sins I committed in trying to reach her. She would be so angry. Do you think me a love lorn fool?" 

"I cannot judge you for your actions, for if Dean is held hostage, I am sure I would overcome every moral qualm to do what is needed to ensure his safety," Castiel said. "Love is not always just." 

In the morning, it was only half a day's march to reach Jack's camp. Castiel held Jack fast in his arms and there was much rejoicing as father and son were reunited. Jack told Castiel of his plans to build a ship and sail, having fallen in love with the ocean when Lucifer forced jack to accompany him to Briton. 

"There is a harbour on the coast of Briton that is favoured by the trade winds," Jack said enthusiastically. "It is merely a day's sailing from here and when our vessel is ready we will head to port London." 

In the meantime, Jack said he had sent Ruby to look for Lucifer, the last anyone had seen of him he had run loose into the forests during battle. 

"What would you do with him?" Castiel asked with some trepidation. 

"I would detain him and sail him back to Rome to answer to the courts for his crimes during war." 

"He was the general he could do what he wanted," Castiel suggested. 

"No, he could not, he could not enjoy the killing and lap up the destruction. The forces he commanded were provided for Rome and he squandered their lives like they were flies. There are people in Rome whose sons and brothers and fathers died here. I would have him answer to them." 

Castiel nodded, he had feared Jack might seek revenge against Lucifer but Jack had grown older and wiser in the intervening separation. He had matured beyond Castiel's expectation. 

He could only stay a day with Jack before departing again, in an attempt to reach the meeting ground of the Britons before the final vote is cast. Castiel had no idea what he would do once he got there, or how he as a Roman foot soldier would be able to find Dean, or if he would even survive entering a citadel full of Britons. Still his heart was gladdened to have seen Jack and he was filled with indescribable hope as he set off again. 

Captain Inias listened to Castiel's urgings to command the troops remain with Jack's crew. The beach they were building the ship upon was well supplied with fresh water streams and fish. The men were able to trade tools and services with the locals for grain and vegetables. It was a good spot to rest the troops. But no matter how much Castiel tried to talk Inias into it, the captain refused to leave his side. 

It was just the three of them who set off towards the secret citadel, using instructions from Rowena. Cain on his search for Collette, Inias in a naive show of loyalty and Castiel for he knew not what. Though perhaps there was a who he was looking for. 

=&=&=&=

"Dean, they did not vote for me to be King, you cannot argue with the outcome of a fair nomination process," Sam tried to placate him. "I know its not the outcome you wanted but we are all bound to follow our people's wishes." 

"They made the wrong decision," Dean said stubbornly. 

"They made a decision that was not what you want," Sam explained patiently. "If they voted for what you wanted exactly, where would we be?" 

"I would be in Rome!" Dean blurted out. "I would be free, to do what I want and live where I want, to be ..." 

"You're in love with a Roman commander," Sam said. "Call him what you want but that is who Castiel is in times of war. Can you deny that he schemes? That he plots and strategises in his sleep? He is not here for the preservation of our people. He is in Briton, according to Rowena's news, with his own garrison. Or do you think he has come to look for you, in some grand romantic gesture? After all the term is Roman." 

"And so what if I do go to him? So what if I fall into his arms. Brittany does not require me. Rome does not require him. Wake Mary, call the council, rouse the swordsmen. Tell them I'm gone." 

Sam watched helpless as Dean left the stonewalled castle and jumped on Impala and rode off out of the meeting ground. There would be outrage when the others found out that Dean of Winchester had left the summit. He wondered how people would vote then. 

=&=&=&=

Things had seemed to go well enough at first. Within a day's walk to the citadel, Cain had found his Collette. She was just standing there in a patch of wildflowers, collecting roots for wound dressing. Castiel had never expected to see Cain weep in all his life, but weep Cain did and then so did Collect, in joy and forgiveness. Castiel let them walk off into the sunset, certain he would see them again in the final vote. 

The meeting ground was within a large settlement, there were stone buildings erected in the distance, grand castles that Castiel had not seen before in his times in Briton. The small city was set deep inside a valley and natural streams cut off access. There had been a bridge and when Castiel was half way across the whole thing gave way, leaving Inias stranded on one side of the stream and Castiel on the other. Then the wolves came out of the scrubs and chased him up a tree, while Inias exhausted his supply of arrows and the one he wounded in the hind leg happened to be the pack leader. Now the wolves were more angry than ever and Inias was half way through wading in the stream when they all took off and chased after the young captain, who quickly ran out of sight. When the wolf pack lost Inias, they doubled back. Castiel stood in the dark, defenceless. He could hear the howling echoing around him, it was cold and he was alone and he would not see Dean again. 

Resigned, Castiel clung to the tree branch and closed his eyes. 

"Could have sworn that this an oak tree, a native of Briton, but it grew a Roman fruit," said a voice in the darkness. The scrape of a sword being unsheathed, the growl of the wolves, the whinnying of a familiar horse and then the whimpering of the retreating pack. 

"They are gone, come down," said the voice again. 

Castiel shook his head. "No, you are hallucination, the wolves await me with their maws, you are death tempting me to let go." 

"Let go Cas, you'll freeze your ass off up there," Dean shouted. 

Reflexively, Castiel responded, he fell with a groan into the leather saddle. Impala complained at this weight with a soft huff. Dean's arms closed around Castiel's waist. "Took you long enough." 

And then there was warmth, Dean opening his fur trimmed cloak to enfold Castiel. Dean's legs pressing against his thighs. Dean's mouth crashing into his. Dean's heartbeat in his ears. 

"I've died and gone to paradise," thought Castiel out loud. 

"Always so dramatic," Dean laughed.


	16. Chapter 16

The night was velvet dark and the scent of Castiel’s not so long lost love enveloped him. Like cream and toast on the hearth of a rainy morning. And indeed it was raining, the sky dribbling with tears of gladness and Dean was there, all dressed in black. Black cloak and black fur trimmed hat, with knitted wool and fingerless gloves to fend against the misty cold. His face not quite visible in the pitch black night, his pulse roared in his neck where Castiel buried his ear. 

“Stop in the name of Rome!” Cried a shadow on the ground and Castiel would have cared to investigate but he was too warm and too content. 

“We’re not in Rome,” Dean answered the challenge, inclining his head in polite disbelief at the dishevelled highwayman standing before the majestic war horse. 

“That is a Roman solider you have taken prisoner and you must return him to me for I am his commander,” said the slightly trembling voice of one determined Captain Inias. 

“You’ll find he is mine to command,” said Dean without any humour. “And no one else’s. Not if you were the Emperor of Rome or Aries incarnate. And you look just like a man, a worn out Roman trooper, with wolf toothmarks on your rear. I’d fight you but I wouldn’t like to be called uncharitable.” 

“My poor life, such as it is, I lay down for this man,” Inias said without hesitation. 

Castiel stirred in Dean’s arms, climbing out of the drunken stupor of happiness, slowly. 

“Wait here my love, let me deal with your shadow,” Dean pressed Castiel into the horse’s warm oat scented back. 

Quickly, Dean dismounted and without much ado unsheathed his sword. He disarmed Inias in less than three moves and then gave a triumphant little howl before wrestling the captain into the muddy ground. Castiel watched dumbfounded as the two men brawled, breath white in the cold. Till Dean thumped Inias’ back solidly into a tree trunk and had his throat compressed beneath his forearm, his robust chest heaving with exhilaration. 

“I’ve watched you since the market place, for your faithfulness I spare you now, go and never come back.”

Though Inias had no breath with which to speak, he stubbornly shook his head, his eyes bulging from the effort. Dean deflated. 

“He’s mule enough to affixiate,” Dean proclaimed, climbing back on the horse, proffering Castiel up once more with the warmth of his chest and arms. “I’ll give it to you, my sweet, for an uncanny knack to attract strays.” 

“He’s faithful,” Castiel said. “Let him stay and follow.” 

“So long as he knows well enough that you are mine,” Dean huffed. 

“Inias, I am this man’s captive,” Castiel explained patiently to Inias following on foot behind the horse with a sour look on his face. “He won me from the mouths of the wolves fair and square. This is his land and his people and he has a right to claim over me for my trespasses on his hospitality. You, he does not wish to keep and I would suggest going back to find Jack and make your merry way home to Rome.” 

“I will not,” Inias declared, offering no reason for his refusal. 

“I don’t think he understand how you belong to me body and soul,” Dean said. “Tell him. Show him.” 

Castiel felt the press of Dean’s pelvis into the small of his back, the rhythm of the ride steady and seductive as Dean rubbed against him. He let out a small moan, quite unwillingly. The ache was back somewhere behind his pubic bone and it blossomed right up his back, flushing his shoulders and making him stretch blithely against Dean. 

“Angeles!” Inias hissed. “Have courage, though he ravishes you, do not succumb to this wayward stranger’s charms. I have read many accounts of the impulses of the flesh, I understand only too well how you may feel weak at a rough touch or a bristling kiss. But you must resist, for the dignity of Rome!” 

“Fuck Rome,” Castiel let out a small sigh and let Dean push him flat on the back of the horse, the hardy creature barely taking notice of the shifting in the saddles. 

Dean pushed aside the leafs of leather that protected Castiel’s legs, stroked his gloved hands down Castiel’s shaking calves as if he were easing a startling stallion, then swiftly sat on the fat of his buttocks and humped him hard and fast. Castiel could feel the heft of Dean wedged between his buttocks and the smell of leather and hay and the weight of Dean riding his ass even through all the layers of clothes and armour was overwhelming, the sensation in his compressed balls building towards oblivion. 

“I love how sensitive you are for me,” Dean whispered into his ear. “How quickly you can come with so little effort on my behalf, like the very thought of me blows your mind.” 

Castiel gave a shudder and a whimper and proved Dean right. He felt the trickle of his release ooze down his inner thighs, grow cold by the time it reached his ankles and then drip to the ground. 

He was half asleep in the saddle when Dean grabbed him off the horse. There was a dry warm hollow in a tree just big enough to shelter in. Dean laid Castiel down like precious cargo, curling around him and bidding him to rest and sleep. Inias curled up beneath the sleeping horse, making do with the warmth emanating for its warm belly for company. 

In the morning as the light lit up the forest, Inias woke to see his Roman friend held in a Celt’s arms. The man had a face that Inias knew only too well from the hundred and one drawings he’d seen completed in tribute. A face that Inias had thought pure fantasy, here in the flesh, more perfect than imagination. His heart burnt and collapsed to ashes in an instant. 

Who is he? Wondered Inias. 

=&=&=&=

It was only at Castiel’s insistence that Dean headed back towards the forum. The warriors at the entry way looked shocked to see him, bowing and lowering their weapons. Dean rode straight through into the main hall not bothering to dismount, Inias following on foot and Castiel draped across the saddles like a prize. 

Dean gently helped Castiel out of the saddle and gave detailed instructions for his comforts to be provided for. He was to be housed in Dean’s private quarters, a full salt bath to be drawn for his use, soft rich foods to be brought to the door and no one was to disturb them. Inias he left to wander the halls, drawing cold looks from the wandering guests in his wolf chewed armour and torn sandals. 

In his own rooms, Dean coaxed Castiel into his bed with warm touches and encouraging smiles but as soon as Castiel succumbed Dean had him bundled up in warm furs and buried under woollens in the large cozy bed. Dean was up and transferring in trays of food and honeyed tea like an overattentive nurse. He wiped down Castiel’s feet and legs with a hot steamy cloth, cleaned it in the bath then returned to clean Castiel’s face. As soon as Castiel swallowed down the tea, Dean tugged him into the bath, massaging his weary shoulders and arms with sweet oils and washing his hair with soap. Castiel left the bath in a great cloud of warm scented steam, was promptly examined for wounds and then dried tenderly with cotton. Dean bundled him again into the bed, pink cheeked and freshly scrubbed, to sit in Dean’s lap and be fed sweet buns and savoury soup. 

“You would be a wonderful wife,” Castiel teased Dean. 

“We could spoil each other, wife to wife,” Dean pressed his cheek to Castiel’s chest, pushing him down into the sea of bedding. 

“And then I could husband you,” Castiel murmured. “Plough my seed into you with sweet violence. And then you me, so on so forth. Till we’re husband and wife to each other. And more besides.” 

Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel and quietly whispered “Cas” with a soft inviting voice. 

And though outside these chambers the political debates waged on, herein only the flesh warred for dominance while the hearts submitted with demure gratitude at a reunion long awaited. 

=&=&=&=

Inias had been quite beside himself when Castiel’s presence was finally announced at the voting forum. Dean introduced him to the leaders as Castiel. No titles necessary. Not Castiel of Rome, or Commander Castiel, not even Castiel the writer or artist or philosopher. He was all those things and simply a resounding name, that brought Inias into a panting shock and left the other guests in speechless awe. 

“Castiel hosted me when I was in Rome, incognito,” Dean said to the assembly. “He is my dearest companion and here at my invitation.” 

There was much whispering, then a figure swaggered in the door. A slim red headed girlish figure with old eyes and a cocky smile. 

“I am returned triumphant from the front, I have captured Lucifer and delivered him onto young Jack for transport back to Rome as a prisoner, you can all hail me Queen Charlie if you wish,” she said with a wink to the assembled crowd. “Except of course you need not throw your weight of support behind me, as I am more than happy to remain a Knight of the realm. Knights get to fight and drink and brawl, while Kings and Queens must rule and be proper. And you all know I am not proper.” 

Mary greeted Charlie with a heartfelt smile. “Daughter,” she said, opening her arms and catching the young woman in an embrace. 

The shy young man with angular, half familiar features accompanying her stepped into the remaining open arm. 

“Adam, my son,” Mary held him for a long moment, to the leaders she declared: “All my children are here at last, we can vote. Dean has nominated Sam for King, the motion has been defeated. Do you wish to stand Charlie? Do you wish to be nominated Adam?” 

Adam smiled and spoke in a gentle cultured voice. “I do not wish to stand for election as King, my Queen. Though I call you my mother and love you as my only parent growing up, I cannot take up the burden of stewardship of this nation. Many of the people here called me John’s bastard when my existence was discovered after his death. If not for your intervention, granting me your guardianship and your protection when my people expected nothing but vengefulness from John’s spurned Queen, I vowed to serve your family’s claim to the throne from my youth until my old age. As supporter and without self interest for so long as I shall live.”

“John was taken in battle and allotted to your mother as spoils of war. Such are our laws and I do not blame him for making you with her over the long decades of his confinement,” Mary said reasonably. “When John died with your mother in the floods, you became my son in law and in my heart, but if you will not stand I must respect your decision. That leaves Charlie, my most wonderful adoptive daughter, foundling of the battlefields, gifted with the intelligence and courage of the huntress. Will you not rule?” 

“I will not rule,” Charlie said. “But fear not the kingdom is not lost. A few weeks ago, with the return of Dean and Sam, came into our possession architectural drawings of infrastructure. The engineering marvels of Rome. It is not a war or a battle or a hostage that will change the game. It is intelligence and knowledge. I understand that in my absence a vote for Sam as King was only half supported by those leaders here present. I am glad the vote this pass for there is a much more elegant solution for our needs.” 

Charlie looked around the room, smiling to command everyone’s attention. 

“I nominate Dean Winchester as King, to rule jointly with Sam Winchester!” She called out brightly. “Dean has new ideas and Sam is good at learning and adapting. With them as leaders and my military support and Adam’s supply of food from his lands, you’ll never get a deal as good as this.” 

The hall erupted into frantic discussion and Dean looked with widened eyes from Castiel to the suddenly nodding crowd. 

“Wait, don’t I get a say in this?” Dean asked. 

Mary rested her hand on his shoulder, her eyes warm but firm. “I don’t think you have much of a choice.” 

The chorus of chanting started with Charlie, her fist raised and her eyes dancing as she called out their names. The leaders followed and soon there was a sea of sound echoing inside the walls, spilling over out the windows and arched doorways and suddenly there was great big roar. The people outside the forum had heard and were shouting Dean and Sam’s name. 

Mary smiled and pulled off her small silver crown. She stood over Dean and Sam until both bent the knee and bowed their heads low. Carefully she set the crown over Dean’s brow and took off her sword and pressed it into his hands. To Sam she handed over a leather bound journal, her record of all the clans that swore fialty to the crown. 

“Long live the Kings,” Mary announced. 

The sentiment was echoed in a deafening cheer. 

=&=&=&= 

While Dean and Sam were embroiled in protracted discussions with the other leaders, assigning roles and strategising Castiel observed the ceremonies and sat quietly at the celebratory feast, nibbling on oat biscuits and dried fruit with a thoughtful expression. Dean didn’t get to see much of Castiel in the ensuing days, the negotiations were proving tangled and complex. Though he and Sam had been crowned by popular vote, their allies were not used to their ways of thinking. They wanted Dean to go to war with Michael and for Sam to expel all the Romans currently roaming their lands. Words were whispered about Dean’s Roman paramour who blatantly wandered the hall, who knows when he will pass on all that he had learnt of the inner workings of the Briton’s leadership. He was a spy and a terrible influenced on Dean’s thinking. A warlock or a demon with an angelic face. He was old and barren and could not give the throne any children. He was an outcast Roman. He was this and he was that and he in every way unsuitable for the King of the Celts. 

On the third day of tedious discussion, Dean looked up to see Castiel entering the hall. The whining complainant went silent as the very man who he had been attacking appeared. Castiel wore his repair armour, it had been cleaned and polished. He was followed by Captain Inias who looked uncertain but always brave. 

Dean stood up from the throne with a soft “Cas?”. 

“Commander Castiel, today, I’m afraid,” Castiel blinked clear blue eyes at Dean. “We must not be too personal given the capacity in which I enter this forum.” 

“Not too personal?” Dean raised his eyebrows. Castiel tried not to blush, Dean’s bed was still warm and sweet with sweat shed by him that morning. 

“Today I am the face of the empire,” Castiel paused and took a deep breath. “I have come to declare war on behalf of Rome.” 

“Again?” Dean asked in exasperation. 

Castiel smiled aloof. “Indeed.”


	17. Chapter 17

Dean frowned at Castiel, his expression perplexed but he did not outright challenge the declaration of war. There were enough voices of dissent, a Campbell cousin shot to his feet and called out: "You're a dead man in Rome, an escapee at worst and an outcast at best!"

"And yet, I am the highest ranking officer in all of Briton, now that Lucifer is detained," Castiel said calmly. 

"Not to throw snow on a fire or anything, because this is quite fun," Charlie smirked. "But even if you are not dead, you are retired from the legion." 

"Alas, it is desperate times," Castiel ran his eyes over Dean appraisingly. "Word is dual kings have arisen in Briton and with such fine leaders, Rome must produce what poor champions she may, to match the calibre of the Celts." 

Charlie laughed and inclined her head in agreement. "Well said." 

"You and what army?" Protested a Talbot in the crowd. 

"Why, this man here," Castiel gestured to Inias in his modest armour. "This is General Inias of the uh Supple Legion." 

"Supply?" Asked Mary, her brow raised. 

"Supple," Castiel said with a brazen look. "The most flexible of the Roman troops, every man a very hidden operative, deadly and undetectable." 

Now it was Mary's turn to throw her head back and laugh, her eyes crinkling she muttered: "More like invisible." 

"The most subtle of soldiers," Castiel bowed to her and she clapped him on the back and sat down. 

"Well, Dean, seems he is determined to make himself an enemy," Mary smiled at Dean. "Either he is quite mad or very sneaky. What say you to this challenge?" 

Dean blinked at Castiel, his face confounded. "Cas, quit joking around." 

Castiel looked at Dean innocently, crossing his ankle on his knee, bulging thighs gleaming as he moved. Dean's lashes fluttered, his cheeks staining. "The ultimatum is on the table, repel my forces if you are able or else call me master." 

There was angry yelling interspersed with tittering laughter in the great hall. Some of the clan leaders stood up and shouted obscenities. The disparate groups uniting in their bile towards Castiel and steadily they shouted at Dean to be their king and teach the Romans a lesson. Dean's bafflement slowly melted away as the chorus of support sounded. Whereas for days now the fractions had quarrelled suddenly they speaking as one. He gaped at the passionate faces and saw Castiel smiling into his hand. The light of understanding lit up in Dean's eyes. 

"You will not test my courage further, for you will find my will steel," Dean said loudly enough for all to hear, silence and anticipated descended. "From this moment on we are opposed. You are Rome and and I am Briton and I will subjugate you to confinement until such time that your countryman recognise my authority over you." 

"So be it," Castiel nodded. "But let not our people suffer for the ill will between us. Let us test our strength on the battlefield, King to Tyrant, man to his better. If you are brave enough, you will taste my sword." 

Dean swallowed, his eye twitching a little before he puffed out his chest and flexed his arms to indicate the weapon at his hip. 

"I take you, Castiel, as my servant and my prize till Rome authorises you to fight me in a duel. Then we will see, who is the rightful supreme over the other. Seize him and put him in my bed chamber for interrogation." 

"Let my general return to Rome and liaise with my brother Gabriel, he is the Patrician and has the power to authorise my representation," Castiel said. "General Inias can sail with Jack while he delivers Lucifer to the people's wrath." Castiel stood up and meekly offered his hands to Dean. 

Dean grabbed him by the wrists, grunted his triumph and roughly pulled him out of the room. The guests sat dumbfounded. They walked fast, breaking into a sprint as they entered the private courtyard, ran all the way into Dean's rooms and panted with glee as the door closed behind them. Dean pushed Castiel's back into the wooden frame and kissed him breathlessly with his hands pinned beside his head. 

"You demented, treasonous, genius angel," Dean cursed Castiel and pressed his hip with bruising firmness into Castiel's groin. "What gull and wild imagination. Now we are doomed to a duel." 

"We could duel now with our swords," Castiel pushed Dean towards the bed, sweeping him off his feet and bouncing him over the stuffed mattress. "Let's see whose is hotter and firmer to the touch." 

Dean pinned Castiel down with his weight, squashing him with muscled torso and heavy arms. Castiel rolled and clambered over Dean, his hand at his throat. "Do not be petulant, though we are equal in all things, here you are under my dominion Dean. Always and forever."

Dean shuddered and went very plaint. 

"This is my kingdom," Castiel rubbed his hands over Dean's stomach, tracing lines over the curves of twitching muscles, twisting sinews and elegant bones. 

Dean moaned as Castiel licked broadly over his left nipple, his hand running through the sparse trail of hair curling around the base of Dean's cock. "This citadel is under siege and this forest is mine to explore. This tower erected by me and will fall at my command. This stream flows at my beckoning and this earthly paradise mine to taste and fuck. Admit me." 

There was a sigh and then a drawn out whimper, Dean spread his legs wider still, groaning for more intrusion and clutching at Castiel's shoulders. 

"I can take more," Dean said in a shuddering plea. "Please, Cas, more fingers and more tongue, teeth, thigh, cock, mouth." 

Castiel hummed, his eyes flickering, his long lashes tickled, his long tongue delved. Dean arched and burrowed and cried and sobbed and begged. 

"Anything Cas, give you anything you want," Dean stuttered as Castiel filled him up with slow agonising gentleness. "Give you power, give you land, crown, army, victory. Just fuck me hard." 

"Don't want anything," Castiel grunted, shoving and pushing hard, sweating with the effort. "Just want to fuck you Dean." 

Dean tried to push back hard against Castiel, but he was locked by the grip of his arms over his shoulders, his neck lengthening as his head flopped rhythmically, his forehead rubbing against the bedding, his knees sunk deep. His body fading from sensation to clutching response and Castiel groaned loudly into his ear as he filled Dean up. There were a few loving pats over Dean's ass then Castiel slipped out and flopped onto his back with a broad smile on his face. Dean rubbed at his eyes, clumsily climbed over Castiel's chest, grabbed his cheeks in his hands, kissed Castiel's swollen mouth, opened his jaw with his tongue and, sobbing with need, inserted his cock down Castiel's throat, weeping as he released. Tracing Castiel's throat as he swallowed greedily. Grinning as he draped himself bonelessly over his lover. 

Castiel closed his eyes in contentment. No public duel could beat this. 

=&=&=&= 

Even Castiel was surprised by the swift response from Rome. Within days of making harbour in the capital the ship sailed again for Briton, filled with cargo and carrying one very unexpected passenger. Dean bade Charlie, his most trustworthy knight, to receive the Roman ship at sea, while he and the rest of the Briton leaders made their way to harbour London. The fleet that sailed in looked like commandeered merchant vessels, with fine sails and decorated hulls. Jack's spartan vessel was in the lead and when the ships moored, he, Inias and Gabriel alighted first. 

Castiel was astounded to see his brother. Gabriel was looking every which way, his face beaming as he called out to Sam Winchester, the Northern King of Briton. 

"Fancy seeing you here," Gabriel said by way of greeting, making the tall Briton blush and uncharacteristically lost for words. Gabriel smiled with satisfaction and turned to Dean. "And I trust you have treated my brother Castiel in a welcoming manner?" 

"He took me prisoner and is holding me hostage until I will duel with him for the kingdom," Castiel said blithely.

"So he has you where you wanted to be," Gabriel dipped his chin. "I am sure you did not complain in the least." 

"And how did you extricate yourself from Michael's clutches?" Castiel asked. 

"When Lucifer lost the war here, Michael of course declared an unprecedented Roman victory at home," Gabriel sneered. 

Castiel nodded. "Of course." 

"So there was much taxation to build a monument to commemorate the event and a triumphant march for the veterans of course," Gabriel shrugged. "Awful timing really. Jack arrived in the port with Lucifer in chains and I'm afraid the veterans were not pleased to see the runaway king. There was a riot and Michael's fine Arabian horse was startled and threw him off. The crowd paid him and Lucifer enough homage that both are now confined to their beds. In their cells. And so the wheel of fortune spins in your favour once again my lucky brother and you are indeed resurrected within Rome. All your lands returned, your village prospering over the fresh volcanic soils, your wealth unlocked and your name fragrant." 

"Things must be good for you to travel this far out of Rome," Castiel observed. 

"What can I do but come and support my brother when he is so clearly outmatched by his opponent. After all, the honour of Rome is at stake. How will you get out of this one? Even I don't know." 

"By giving Dean a fair match and doing my best, of course," Castiel said. "Honest." 

"Honesty is not one of your virtues," Gabriel pointed out. "What trick do you have up your sleeve?"

Castiel look at Dean, the Southern King mounted on Impala watching them with wary eyes. 

"No tricks, for once," said Castiel. "Let us not delay the inevitable." 

Dean was surprised when Castiel walked up to him, his face solemn. "I think now is a good time for us to fight." 

There was concern in Dean's eyes when he said: "But Gabriel has just arrived, let him rest, we could fight in the morning. Or tomorrow. Or next week?" 

"I am authorised Dean, I dare not prolong the wait. Your clansmen expect as much. We have waited long enough." 

"But Cas it has only been days..." Dean whispered urgently. "Days, hours, seconds, an instant, too short a time. I need more time, grant me an eternity or two. I cannot bring myself to war with you." 

"It is not you or I who will draw our weapons," Castiel said. "We are two states, long at battle, here to settle our scores." 

"Cas, please," Dean was all but begging now, his allies frowning behind him. 

"Now, Dean, now," Castiel took a step back and pulled his sword from its sheath, raising the dull borrowed weapon up in the air. "Come." 

Dean pulled himself together and slowly dismounted. His sword was the one gifted by Mary, it was a simple weapon but of excellent make and well taken care of, the blade honed and shone with wicked light. With no ceremony, the witnesses drew around them in a wide loose circle. The air thick with anticipation as Dean met Castiel in the centre. 

Castiel struck first, a sharp well aimed stab that Dean parried readily. But the second blow followed by the third came faster and cleverly angled. Dean took a step back with each strike, then with his broad shoulders turned, he spun and charged Castiel with his side, knocking his sword arm wide. Castiel danced lightly away and feinted to the right before sprinting to the left, his sword swirled around Dean like it was magnetised to his body. The watchers gave reluctant cheers at the splendid display of tactical sword work, but Dean was a little taller with a further reach and he was a well built man and just as agile as Castiel. In size they were closely matched but Dean had perhaps an edge of strength, he barrelled into Castiel and with three resounding blows had Castiel back on defence. The Roman retreated and looked at Dean with scrutiny, then smiled and pushed forward once more, relying on what looked like missteps and sideward skips to tease and draw Dean's sword, then exploit every opening Dean's movements gave way to. The crowd watched with halted breath as strength and speed clashed and parted. For a while it looked like neither would ever tire, the swords moving with dizzying speed, it looked like a dance. Except, Castiel seemed to turn his ankle on some loose ground and suddenly he had fallen to his knees and Dean skipped to a stop, the tip of his blade an inch from Castiel's throat. 

"Give me your sword and swear your fealty," Dean gasped. 

Castiel raised his eyes to Dean and remained silent. 

"Come on!" Dean's blade trembled infinitesimally. 

Castiel met Dean's eyes and slowly drew himself up to his feet, Dean stepping back inch by inch to allow him the room to stand. He stared at Dean placidly and for a while. Dean stared back. The crowd held its breath. Then a sword flew through the air and speared through the earth, the hilt juddering with the force of the insertion. Castiel's sword was gone, thrown by his own hand. 

"You give me no choice," Dean croaked and Castiel gave him a small nod of consent. 

Dean dropped to the ground, his knees planted in the soil, his blade on his bare hands proffered. 

"I surrender," Dean declared. "Briton surrenders." 

There was uproar and chaos but Castiel carefully took Dean's sword and put it on the ground. Dean remained on his knees. He held Castiel's hands in his and kissed both reverently. 

"I offer my name for truce," Dean peered up at Castiel. "I offer marriage and union."

Someone was shouting that it was not possible under the laws and Charlie's voice could be heard screaming that the law was up to the rulers to determine. 

"I accept your offer, Dean of Winchester," Castiel said with slow deliberation. "Son of Mary Campbell. Ruler of my heart." 

And all the noises of dissent and agreement faded to nothing. All history and politics, alliances and foes blasted into the sky and blown away like ash clouds. 

"Arise and be mine," concluded Castiel.


	18. Chapter 18

"This entire wedding is a bodacious lie! A bold faced insult to all Briton!" Shouted the guest, just before the bride kicked him into the guard tower’s new defensive moat. 

The moat was a design of new devising and Dean was delighted to see his spluttering cousin kicking his legs like an incompetent duck before doggy paddling to the shore. 

"I like the sound of that word," Castiel turned to Dean, his white toga gleaming in the morning sunlight, the white daises in his dark hair fluttering delicately in the Spring breeze. “Dean Winchester’s Bodacious Queen, Queen Boudica will hence forth be my official title in all my records on this isle and Tacitus my authorial name in Rome.” 

“But Cas, then no one will remember you!” Dean said perplexed. 

“Castiel, the man, is for you alone,” a soft smile crossed Castiel’s features, his eyes half closing as he gazed blissfully at Dean. “There is power in a name and infamy might be misused and when our names become our ends regardless of means then we are alike to Michael and Lucifer. Here we are two political figures, united in our love but with that is the joining of power. Though such things are desirable in bed, it is inherently dangerous in governance.” 

Dean bowed his head in deep thought. “I have a lot to learn from you still, will you provide me with counsel Castiel, I will check my conscience to your standard.” 

“My standards are ever flexible and mercurial,” Castiel laughed. “And I have learnt more from you than you from me?” 

“That was a moment of invention, who knew you were ticklish there,” Dean said demurely. 

“I don’t mean your innovations in bed, Dean,” Castiel rolled his eyes. “My life before you came along was comfortable but now it is thrilling. I was in staid retirement, weary of the world and now you have me embroiled in it again. I confess when I took you to Rome I meant to seduce you to our quaint notions of democracy and engineering. Though ere I found myself seduced by your beauty, your temperament and your resilience.” 

“It was the snake bite treatment, wasn’t it?” Dean said playfully. “No physician could substitute your pain with pleasure.” 

“The results of your treatment were pleasing.” 

“Was that when you ...” Dean was suddenly modest, blushing more bride like than Castiel’s pretty outfit. “... when you fell in love with me?” 

“I think it was sight of you in the garden communing with the moon,” Castiel wondered out aloud. “Or perhaps earlier when you came to my bedroom with the sweet rolls and the sweetest ass I’ve ever beheld in those deer hide breeches.” 

Dean sucked at his teeth in mock outrage. 

“Or perhaps earlier, the fall of the first tear down your cheeks when I had you pressed and disarmed. That flash of vulnerability cleaved me to your cause before I’d ever seen your beautiful face.” 

Castiel thought further and added. “Were you pretending to be sad?” 

Dean held Castiel’s hand to his chest. “I had heard of you of course and created the opportunity to meet you by bribing Metatron to take part in the rouse. But that tear was no trick, I felt the weight of the whole Empire upon me when you ground me into the floor. I thought of my people subjugated and it frustrated me to no end. To see you in your vigour and your glory made me despair and pine all at once.” 

“But you never hated me,” Castiel touched Dean’s cheek. “Your sworn enemy, a foreign power, you could see the good in me, though the light had long dimmed.” 

“You blaze like a beacon,” Dean sighed. “You’ve no idea.” 

“We can argue about this for an eternity, if we must pretend at marital discord,” Castiel grinned. “But for now, I invite you to inspect my dowry, which Gabriel has provided generously.” 

It had taken a week for the wedding to be organised from the day Dean so unexpectedly proposed marriage. There had been arguments of course and much tricky negotiation which Dean with the support of his family navigated. Everyday more ships poured into the harbour from all corners of the Roman empire. Gabriel took charge of them all, writing in a long ledger the names of each arrival. Sam was fascinated, as he always was with anything Roman and related to Gabriel, and spent much time by the Patrician’s side debating the contents of the ledger for some mysterious purpose that Dean was too busy to work out. Now Castiel was leading him by the hand down to the harbour. It took a few minutes to cross the crowds of people. With the coming of peace, the newly founded port of London was almost as busy as Dean had seen the heart of the Roman forums. Everywhere there was bustle and industry, purposeful movement of people and materials. It was sight to gladden any overseer’s heart. 

Gabriel and Sam both looked up from their paperwork to greet the newly wed couple, having stolen away from the imminent feast to commence at sunset. 

“Have you told him?” Gabriel asked Castiel and Sam was beaming bright eyed at Dean. 

“I’d rather show him,” Castiel said. “So Gabriel has brought us the wealth of Rome as a wedding gift. And there is an example.”

Out of the crowd, a grumpy voice emerged with a similarly stern face. “If I’m to convince my wife to leave her village and settle here, there better be enough parks and recreation to her liking!” 

Dean recognised the man making his way across the road. 

“Your wedding gift is Bobby Singer, the metal smith?” Dean asked, astounded. “Thank you, I guess.”

“Him and a thousand more like him, skilled craftsmen, engineers, tradesmen, innovators, artists, mathematicians, farmers,” Sam called out excitedly, running his finger down the ledger. “All these arrivals are here to stay, to build a town out of this port and a city out of a river of mud. We’ll have roads and sewage and libraries!” 

Castiel watched Dean’s face with expectant eyes. “This means change, Dean, are you ready?”

Dean looked up with a broad smile. “Ready when you are Cas.” 

=&=&=&= 

The new roads meant that Claire could visit with Castiel in London every season. She was often accompanied by Meg, newly promoted from handmaiden to security captain. Meg’s slanderous evidence against Castiel during Michael’s purge had been instrumental in destabilising his government and once he had been overthrown she quickly disappeared from the cells and returned to Claire’s territory. Her bravery and tenacity was rewarded and recognised swiftly. Claire had forged a strong alliance with Samandriel, to their mutual advantage. Their territories forming a shield between Briton and Rome, though relations under Gabriel’s patrician-ship were amiable. 

Castiel was officially appointed the governor of Briton but of course Dean and Sam were considered the true leaders. Castiel undertook his duties with casual flare, working on administration of justice as his new novel enterprise. He was setting up a judicial system, writing books of jurisprudence about the ownership of sheep and the rights of trespass, in between long sabbaticals of leave during which he played Queen Boudica to Dean’s kingship. At the end of the year, a scandalous event occurred where Gabriel declared that Sam was to be taken to Rome as ‘surety of peace’. For a hostage, Sam seemed very happy to be taken ashore, excitedly packing and elaborating to his family about his plans to learn governance from Gabriel. It is a subtle art, even more dangerous and exciting than war, he said. And Gabriel was a true master of politics and Sam his eager apprentice. With the Southern King gone abroad, Dean’s workload doubled and Castiel often complained of the late hours by which Dean reached their private chambers. Though every night he reached it without fail. 

Jack had completed his first sailing adventure around the isles and was quickly renewing his ship’s designs. Before the new year, it was ready, with a mahogany body and long wide sails. He was writing a book, he told Castiel, to document his journey into the East. He to sail through to the orient where even Roman adventurers had seldom travelled. 

General Inias, post his prompt promotion, held onto his title and became commodore to a modest fleet of sailing ships. At Dean’s suggestion, Inias was working on expanding the navy so that forever more Briton would have some independence from the reach of Rome. Only occasionally, did the naval commander look at Castiel with longing, risking the wrath of the king. 

Faithful Hannah and her partner Hester arrived the year after, with a toddler named Cassandra Deanna Davina in tow. The child reached out her tender arms and wound them around Dean’s neck with adoration as if she could remember being delivered by him. She was promised the teaching of her letters and numbers by Castiel, who spent days sketching an adoring family portrait of her and her doting mothers. Almost half the village from Castiel’s lands, the children of the veterans, had emigrated to Briton. They were quick to adapt to the local climate and spread out to create a substantial supply of food production. Suddenly, London’s growth could be fed and grow it did. Then there were grape vines in the more temperate zones and the sweet wine flowed along side Mary’s liquor. In time, there came the hives of honey, the fields of wheat, the herds prospered and the people dwelled in the comforts of peace. 

=&=&=&=

Dean was certain that Castiel was up to something, the ride had been long and there was nothing to show for it at the end of the journey except for a stinky swamp that belched and gurgled sulphurous gases. 

“Happy anniversary!” Castiel indicated the swamp with an open hand and an expectant smile. 

“How ... very ... lovely,” Dean pulled a face. “Is it a remembrance of the volcano? A momentum of hell?” 

“No,” Castiel stuck his nose up in the air. “This is a most thoughtful gift. I had to examine many rocks and calculate the location of the aquifers. Years of work went into this.” 

“Huh,” Dean scratched his head. “What is it Cas?” 

“A Roman Bath!” Castiel exclaimed. “Can’t you see it? There would be the entrance, the bathrooms, the cold pools, the hot rooms and the warm pools. Think of the massages, the swims and the moments we would have to ourselves before it is open to the public!” 

“I am not sure I want to get into all that mud,” Dean whispered. “It’s a nice idea but ...” 

“And we shall call it the city of Bath,” Castiel frowned. “The name is a little literal but once we block the overflow and clear out the silt and install the marble, this whole place will be filled with hot, vivid green water, the colour of your eyes Dean. And for generations and thousands of years, perhaps into perpetuity, men and women may swim here and quietly fondle each other beneath the emerald waters.” 

“What a legacy,” Dean laughed. 

“Indeed, I knew you had the imagination to appreciate such a romantic gesture,” Castiel winked. “Now come we will need to find shelter and set up camp for the night, so that we might guard our thermal pool like a treasure.” 

“Could we at least set up camp upwind?” Dean suggested and Castiel graciously conceded. 

It was mid-summer and the forests were full of bluebells. In the meadow where Dean laid out their bedroll the air was sweet with wild flowers. There were pregnant hares in the bushes and fat birds in the trees, the nests loaded and the fresh water streams full of trout. The grass was sweet as Impala chewed and gnawed on summer growth. The moon rose a silver plate over a velvet cloth night sprinkled with dense scatterings of winking stars. The deers rutted in the woods and the men rolled on the ground. Dean was on top at first but soon Castiel wrestled him into submission. Breathless, Dean parted his legs and Castiel filled him up like a ship making for home shores. It was an easy glide, smooth and sweet and Dean gave a sigh like an ocean tide. They rocked together in sympathetic rhythm, till suddenly Castiel gave a groan and left Dean’s teeth rattling on the next thrust. All pretence at civility fell apart and Dean was a stormy sea now and Castiel battling his whims. Dean’s heart thundered and Castiel’s eyes sparked lightning bright in the moonlight. Their violence once spent rained milky blessings upon the soil. The labours of their love twinkled as the lights of London. As the lanterns of far flung ships exploring unchartered waters. Sailing through the river of history.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> If I left anything out in the conclusion please let me know in comments! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr: violetlyvanilla 
> 
> My next current wips:  
> Pride and Prejudice + Tentacles WIP link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18630124  
> Knotting Hill prequel link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19064056
> 
> Completed stories:  
> The Bodyguard (is the omega) - Destiel bodyguard AU link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17404982  
> Splatter - Destiel mermaid AU link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15601146  
> Twisted Fibre - Destiel Altered Carbon AU link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14347767  
> Meet Cute One Shots - link here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1253834


End file.
